OED. Thou shalt not lose thy rights in such an hour, When I am harrowed thus with doubt and fear. To whom more worthy should I tell my grief? --My father was Corinthian Polybus, My mother, Dorian Merope.--I lived A prince among that people, till a chance Encountered me, worth wonder, but, though strange, Not worth the anxious thought it waked in me. For at a feasting once over the wine One deep in liquor called aloud to me, 'Hail, thou false foundling of a foster-sire!' That day with pain I held my passion down; But early on the morrow I came near And questioned both my parents, who were fierce In anger at the man who broached this word. For their part I was satisfied, but still It galled me, for the rumour would not die. Eluding then my parents I made way To Delphi, where, as touching my desire, Phoebus denied me; but brake forth instead With other oracles of misery And horrible misfortune, how that I Must know my mother's shame, and cause to appear A birth intolerable in human view, And do to death the author of my life. I fled forth at the word, conjecturing now Corinthia's region by the stars of heaven, And wandered, where I never might behold Those dreadful prophecies fulfilled on me. So travelling on, I came even to the place Where, as thou tell'st, the King of Thebe fell. And, O my wife, I will hide nought from thee. When I drew near the cross-road of your tale, A herald, and a man upon a car, Like your description, there encountered me. And he who led the car, and he himself The greybeard, sought to thrust me from the path. Then in mine angry mood I sharply struck The driver-man who turned me from the way; Which when the elder saw, he watched for me As I passed by, and from the chariot-seat Smote full upon my head with the fork'd goad; But got more than he gave; for, by a blow From this right hand, smit with my staff, he fell Instantly rolled out of the car supine. I slew them every one. Now if that stranger Had aught in common with king Laius, What wretch on earth was e'er so lost as I? Whom have the Heavens so followed with their hate? No house of Theban or of foreigner Must any more receive me, none henceforth Must speak to me, but drive me from the door! I, I have laid this curse on mine own head! Yea, and this arm that slew him now enfolds His queen. O cruel stain! Am I not vile? Polluted utterly! Yes, I must flee, And, lost to Thebe, nevermore behold My home, nor tread my country, lest I meet In marriage mine own mother, and bring low His head that gave me life and reared my youth, My father, Polybus. Ah! right were he Who should declare some god of cruel mood Had sent this trouble upon my soul! Ye Powers, Worshipped in holiness, ne'er may I see That day, but perish from the sight of men, Ere sins like these be branded on my name! CH. Thy fear is ours, O king: yet lose not hope, Till thou hast heard the witness of the deed. OED. Ay, that is all I still have left of hope, To bide the coming of the shepherd man.