Oedipus: Why, daughter, hast thou dragged me to the light, supporting
my blind footsteps from the gloom of my chamber, where I lie upon
my bed and make piteous moan, a hoary sufferer, invisible as a phantom
of the air, or as a spirit from the pit, or as a dream that flies?
Antigone: Father, there are tidings of sorrow for thee to bear; no
more thy sons behold the light, or thy wife who ever would toil to
tend thy blind footsteps as with a staff. Alas for thee, my sire!
Oedipus: Ah me, the sorrows I endure! I may well say that. Tell me,
child, what fate o'ertook those three, and how they left the light.
Antigone: Not to reproach or mock thee say I this, but in all sadness;
'tis thy own avenging curse, with all its load of slaughter, fire,
and ruthless war, that is fallen on thy sons. Alas for thee, my sire!
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