_Joc._ O, OEdipus, yet send, And stop their entrance, ere it be too late; Unless you wish to see Jocasta rent With furies,--slain out-right with mere distraction! Keep from your eyes and mine the dreadful Phorbas. Forbear this search, I'll think you more than mortal; Will you yet hear me? _OEdip._ Tempests will be heard, And waves will dash, though rocks their basis keep. But see, they enter. If thou truly lovest me, Either forbear this subject, or retire. _Enter_ HAEMON, _Guards, with_ PHORBAS. _Joc._ Prepare then, wretched prince, prepare to hear A story, that shall turn thee into stone. Could there be hewn a monstrous gap in nature, A flaw made through the centre, by some God, Through which the groans of ghosts may strike thy ears, They would not wound thee, as this story will. Hark, hark! a hollow voice calls out aloud, Jocasta! Yes, I'll to the royal bed, Where first the mysteries of our loves were acted, And double-dye it with imperial crimson; Tear off this curling hair, Be gorged with fire, stab every vital part, And, when at last I'm slain, to crown the horror, My poor tormented ghost shall cleave the ground, To try if hell can yet more deeply wound. [_Exit._ _OEdip._ She's gone; and, as she went, methought her eyes Grew larger, while a thousand frantic spirits, Seething like rising bubbles on the brim, Peeped from the watry brink, and glowed upon me. I'll seek no more; but hush my genius up, That throws me on my fate.--Impossible! O wretched man, whose too too busy thoughts Hide swifter than the gallopping heaven's round, With an eternal hurry of the soul. Nay, there's a time when even the rolling year Seems to stand still, dead calms are in the ocean, When not a breath disturbs the drowzy waves: But man, the very monster of the world, Is ne'er at rest; the soul for ever wakes. Come then, since destiny thus drives us on, Let us know the bottom.--Haemon, you I sent; Where is that Phorbas? _Haem._ Here, my royal lord. _OEdip._ Speak first, AEgeon, say, is this the man? _AEge._ My lord, it is; Though time has ploughed that face With many furrows since I saw it first, Yet I'm too well acquainted with the ground, Quite to forget it. _OEdip._ Peace; stand back a while.-- Come hither, friend; I hear thy name is Phorbas. Why dost thou turn thy face? I charge thee answer To what I shall enquire: Wert thou not once The servant to king Laius here in Thebes? _Phor._ I was, great sir, his true and faithful servant; Born and bred up in court, no foreign slave. _OEdip._ What office hadst thou? what was thy employment? _Phor._ He made me lord of all his rural pleasures; For much he loved them: oft I entertained him With sporting swains, o'er whom I had command. _OEdip._ Where was thy residence? to what part of the country Didst thou most frequently resort? _Phor._ To mount Cithaeron, and the pleasant vallies Which all about lie shadowing its large feet.