OED. O boldness void of shame! Whom dost thou think Thy obloquy most harms, this aged head Or thine, who hast thus let pass thy lips the crimes I have borne unwittingly. So Heaven was pleased To wreak some old offence upon our race. Since in myself you will find no stain of sin For which such ruinous error 'gainst myself And mine own house might be the recompense. Tell me, I pray thee, if a word from Heaven Came to my father through the oracle That he should die by his son's hand,--what right Hast thou to fasten that reproach on me, The child not yet begotten of my sire, An unborn nothing, unconceived? Or if, Born as I was to misery, I encountered And killed my father in an angry fray, Nought knowing of what I did or whom I slew, What reason is't to blame the unwitting deed? And, oh, thou wretch! art not ashamed to force me To speak that of my mother, thine own sister, Which I will speak, for I will not keep silence, Since thou hast been thus impious with thy tongue. She was my mother, oh, the bitter word! Though neither knew it, and having borne me, she Became the mother of children to her son, An infamous birth! Yet this I know, thy crime Of speech against us both is voluntary. But all involuntary was my deed In marriage and is this mine utterance now. No,--that shall not be called a bosom-sin, Nor shall my name be sullied with the deed, Thy tongue would brand on me, against my sire. For answer me one question. If to-day, Here, now, one struck at thee a murderous stroke,-- At thee, the righteous person,--wouldst thou ask If such assailant were thy sire, or strike Forthwith? Methinks, as one who cares to live, You would strike before you questioned of the right, Or reasoned of his kindred whom you slew. Such was the net that snared me: such the woes Heaven drew me to fulfil. My father's spirit, Came he to life, would not gainsay my word. But thou, to whom, beneath the garb of right, No matter is too dreadful or too deep For words, so rail'st on me, in such a presence. Well thou dost flatter the great name of Theseus, And Athens in her glory stablished here, But midst thy fulsome praises thou forgettest How of all lands that yield the immortal Gods Just homage of true piety, this land Is foremost. Yet from hence thou would'st beguile Me, the aged suppliant. Nay, from hence thou would'st drag Myself with violence, and hast reft away My children. Wherefore I conjure these powers, With solemn invocation and appeal, To come and take my part, that thou may'st know What men they are who guard this hallowed realm. CH. My lord, the stranger deserves well. His fate Is grievous, but the more demands our aid. THE. Enough of words. The captors and their prey Are hasting;--we, they have wronged, are standing still. CR. I am powerless here. What dost thou bid me do?