Jocasta
And yet thy sire’s death lights out darkness much.
Oedipus
Much, but my fear is touching her who lives.
Messenger
Who may this woman be whom thus you fear?
Oedipus
Merope, stranger, wife of Polybus.
Messenger
And what of her can cause you any fear?
Oedipus
A heaven-sent oracle of dread import.
Messenger
A mystery, or may a stranger hear it?
Oedipus
Aye, ’tis no secret. Loxias once foretold
That I should mate with mine own mother, and shed
With my own hands the blood of my own sire.
Hence Corinth was for many a year to me
A home distant; and I trove abroad,
But missed the sweetest sight, my parents’ face.
Messenger
Was this the fear that exiled thee from home?
Oedipus
Yea, and the dread of slaying my own sire.
Messenger
Have I not rid thee of this second fear?