Oedipus at Colonus quotes

Child of an old blind sire, Antigone, What region, say, whose city have we reached? Who will provide today with scanted dole This wanderer? ’Tis little that he craves, And less obtains—that less enough for me;

For I am taught by suffering to endure,

And the long years that have grown old with me, And last not least, by true nobility. My daughter, if thou seest a resting place On common ground or by some sacred grove, Stay me and set me down.

How can he profit from a sightless man?

The blind man’s words will be instinct with sight.

Heed then; I fain would see thee out of harm; For by the looks, marred though they be by fate, I judge thee noble: tarry where thou art, While I go seek the burghers—those at hand, Not in the city.

I am that man; I know you near

Ears to the blind, they say, are eyes.

O dread to see and dread to hear!

Have I so found it? I whom ye dislodged First from my seat of rock and now would drive Forth from your land, dreading my name alone; For me you surely dread not, nor my deeds,

Deeds of a man more sinned against than sinning

As I might well convince you, were it meet To tell my mother’s story and my sire’s, The cause of this your fear. Yet am I then A villain born because in self-defence, Striken, I struck the striker back again?

On thee, ’tis said, their sovereignty depends.

So, when I cease to be, my worth begins.

The gods, who once abased, uplift thee now.

The gods, who once abased, uplift thee now.

Poor help to raise an old man fallen in youth.

Howe’er that be, ’tis for this cause alone That Creon comes to thee—and comes anon.

Dear son of Aegeus, to the gods alone Is given immunity from eld and death; But nothing else escapes all-ruinous time.

Earth’s might decays, the might of men decays,

Honour grows cold, dishonour flourishes, There is no constancy ’twixt friend and friend, Or city and city; be it soon or late, Sweet turns to bitter, hate once more to love.

But nothing else escapes all-ruinous time. Earth’s might decays, the might of men decays, Honour grows cold, dishonour flourishes, There is no constancy ’twixt friend and friend, Or city and city; be it soon or late,

Sweet turns to bitter, hate once more to love.

If now ’tis sunshine betwixt Thebes and thee And not a cloud, Time in his endless course Gives birth to endless days and nights, wherein The merest nothing shall suffice to cut With serried spears your bonds of amity.

Thou art a messenger suborned, thy tongue Is sharper than a sword’s edge, yet thy speech Will bring thee more defeats than victories. Howbeit, I know I waste my words—begone, And leave me here; whate’er may be my lot,

He lives not ill who lives withal content.

Which loses in this parley, I o’erthrown By thee, or thou who overthrow’st thyself?

And yet what pleasure canst thou find In forcing friendship on unwilling foes? Suppose a man refused to grant some boon When you importuned him, and afterwards When you had got your heart’s desire, consented,

Granting a grace from which all grace had fled,

Would not such favour seem an empty boon? Yet such the boon thou profferest now to me, Fair in appearance, but when tested false. Yea, I will proved thee false, that these may hear;

Yet such the boon thou profferest now to me,

Fair in appearance, but when tested false.

Yea, I will proved thee false, that these may hear; Thou art come to take me, not to take me home, But plant me on thy borders, that thy State May so escape annoyance from this land.

Thou hast a glib tongue, but no honest man, Methinks, can argue well on any side.

’Tis one thing to speak much, another well.

Thy words, forsooth, are few and all well aimed!

In that faith I hunted down my quarry; and e’en then I had refrained but for the curses dire Wherewith he banned my kinsfolk and myself: Such wrong, methought, had warrant for my act.

Anger has no old age but only death;

The dead alone can feel no touch of spite. So thou must work thy will; my cause is just But weak without allies; yet will I try, Old as I am, to answer deeds with deeds.

In that faith I hunted down my quarry; and e’en then I had refrained but for the curses dire Wherewith he banned my kinsfolk and myself: Such wrong, methought, had warrant for my act. Anger has no old age but only death;

The dead alone can feel no touch of spite.

So thou must work thy will; my cause is just But weak without allies; yet will I try, Old as I am, to answer deeds with deeds.

She was, ah woe is me! she was my mother; I knew it not, nor she; and she my mother Bare children to the son whom she had borne, A birth of shame. But this at least I know, Wittingly thou aspersest her and me;

But I unwitting wed, unwilling speak.

Nay neither in this marriage or this deed Which thou art ever casting in my teeth— A murdered sire—shall I be held to blame. Come, answer me one question, if thou canst:

Fathers aye were fond.

So sorrow sorrow props.

I have my darlings, and if death should come, Death were not wholly bitter with you near. Cling to me, press me close on either side, There rest ye from your dreary wayfaring. Now tell me of your ventures, but in brief;

I marvel not if thou hast dallied long In converse with thy children and preferred Their speech to mine; I feel no jealousy,

I would be famous more by deeds than words.

Of this, old friend, thou hast had proof; my oath I have fulfilled and brought thee back the maids Alive and nothing harmed for all those threats. And how the fight was won, ’twere waste of words To boast—thy daughters here will tell thee all.

And how the fight was won, ’twere waste of words To boast—thy daughters here will tell thee all. But of a matter that has lately chanced On my way hitherward, I fain would have Thy counsel—slight ’twould seem, yet worthy thought.

A wise man heeds all matters great or small.

What is it, son of Aegeus? Let me hear. Of what thou askest I myself know naught.

Look thou to the past, forget the present, think On all the woe thy sire and mother brought thee; Thence wilt thou draw this lesson without fail,

Of evil passion evil is the end.

Thou hast, alas, to prick thy memory, Stern monitors, these ever-sightless orbs. O yield to us; just suitors should not need To be importunate, nor he that takes A favour lack the grace to make return.

No need, Sir, to appeal a second time. It likes me not to boast, but be assured

Thy life is safe while any god saves mine.

Exit Theseus.

… heap up a grievous load, Scant pleasures, heavier pains, Till not one joy remains For him who lingers on life’s weary road And come it slow or fast, One doom of fate Doth all await, For dance and marriage bell, The dirge and funeral knell.

Death the deliverer freeth all at last.

Antistrophe Not to be born at all Is best, far best that can befall, Next best, when born, with least delay To trace the backward way.