ed was exposed:
The king himself lived many, many years,
And found a different fate; by robbers murdered,
Where three ways met: Yet these are oracles,
And this the faith we owe them.

_OEdip._ Sayest thou, woman?
By heaven, thou hast awakened somewhat in me,
That shakes my very soul!

_Joc._ What new disturbance?

_OEdip._ Methought thou said'st--(or do I dream thou said'st it!)
This murder was on Laius' person done,
Where three ways meet?

_Joc._ So common fame reports.

_OEdip._ Would it had lied!

_Joc._ Why, good my lord?

_OEdip._ No questions.
'Tis busy time with me; despatch mine first;
Say where, where was it done!

_Joc._ Mean you the murder?

_OEdip._ Could'st thou not answer without naming murder?

_Joc._ They say in Phocide; on the verge that parts it
From Daulia, and from Delphos.

_OEdip._ So!--How long? when happened this?

_Joc._ Some little time before you came to Thebes.

_OEdip._ What will the gods do with me!

_Joc._ What means that thought?

_OEdip._ Something: But 'tis not yet your turn to ask:
How old was Laius, what his shape, his stature,
His action, and his mien? quick, quick, your answer!--

_Joc._ Big made he was, and tall: His port was fierce,
Erect his countenance: Manly majesty
Sate in his front, and darted from his eyes,
Commanding all he viewed: His hair just grizzled,
As in a green old age: Bate but his years,
You are his picture.

_OEdip._ [_Aside._] Pray heaven he drew me not!--
Am I his picture?

_Joc._ So I have often told you.

_OEdip._ True, you have;
Add that unto the rest:--How was the king
Attended, when he travelled?

_Joc._ By four servants:
He went out private.

_OEdip._ Well counted still:--
One 'scaped, I hear; what since became of him?

_Joc._ When he beheld you first, as king in Thebes,
He kneeled, and trembling begged I would dismiss him:
He had my leave; and now he lives retired.

_OEdip._ This man must be produced: he must, Jocasta.

_Joc._ He shall--yet have I leave to ask you why?

_OEdip._ Yes, you shall know: For where should I repose
The anguish of my soul, but in your breast!
I need not tell you Corinth claims my birth;
My parents, Polybus and Merope,
Two royal names; their only child am I.
It happened once,--'twas at a bridal feast,--
One, warm with wine, told me I was a foundling,
Not the king's son; I, stung with this reproach,
Struck him: My father heard of it: The man
Was made ask pardon; and the business hushe