, a tenderness,
Too mighty for the anger of the gods!
Direct me to thy knees: yet, oh forbear,
Lest the dead embers should revive.
Stand off, and at just distance
Let me groan my horrors!--here
On the earth, here blow my utmost gale;
Here sob my sorrows, till I burst with sighing;
Here gasp and languish out my wounded soul.

_Joc._ In spite of all those crimes the cruel gods
Can charge me with, I know my innocence;
Know yours. 'Tis fate alone that makes us wretched,
For you are still my husband.

_OEdip._ Swear I am,
And I'll believe thee; steal into thy arms,
Renew endearments, think them no pollutions,
But chaste as spirits' joys. Gently I'll come,
Thus weeping blind, like dewy night, upon thee,
And fold thee softly in my arms to slumber.
[_The Ghost of_ LAIUS _ascends by
degrees, pointing at_ JOCASTA.

_Joc._ Begone, my lord! Alas, what are we doing?
Fly from my arms! Whirlwinds, seas, continents,
And worlds, divide us! O, thrice happy thou,
Who hast no use of eyes; for here's a sight
Would turn the melting face of mercy's self
To a wild fury.

_OEdip._ Ha! what seest thou there?

_Joc._ The spirit of my husband! O, the gods!
How wan he looks!

_OEdip._ Thou ravest; thy husband's here.

_Joc._ There, there he mounts
In circling fire among the blushing clouds!
And see, he waves Jocasta from the world!

_Ghost._ Jocasta, OEdipus. [_Vanish with thunder._

_OEdip._ What wouldst thou have?
Thou knowest I cannot come to thee, detained
In darkness here, and kept from means of death.
I've heard a spirit's force is wonderful;
At whose approach, when starting from his dungeon,
The earth does shake, and the old ocean groans,
Rocks are removed, and towers are thundered down;
And walls of brass, and gates of adamant
Are passable as air, and fleet like winds.

_Joc._ Was that a raven's croak, or my son's voice?
No matter which; I'll to the grave and hide me.
Earth open, or I'll tear thy bowels up.
Hark! he goes on, and blabs the deed of incest.

_OEdip._ Strike then, imperial ghost; dash all at once
This house of clay into a thousand pieces;
That my poor lingering soul may take her flight
To your immortal dwellings.

_Joc._ Haste thee, then,
Or I shall be before thee. See,--thou canst not see!
Then I will tell thee that my wings are on.
I'll mount, I'll fly, and with a port divine
Glide all along the gaudy