Oh, grudge us nothing! Question every cry

Of birds, and all roads else of prophecy

Thou knowest. Save our city: save thine own

Greatness: save me; save all that yet doth groan

Under the dead man's wrong! Lo, in thy hand

We lay us. And, methinks, no work so grand

Hath man yet compassed, as, with all he can

Of chance or power, to help his fellow man.

Tiresias (to himself).

Tiresias

Ah me!

A fearful thing is knowledge, when to know

Helpeth no end. I knew this long ago,

But crushed it dead. Else had I never come.

Oedipus.

Oedipus.

What means this? Comest thou so deep in gloom?

Tiresias.

Tiresias.

Let me go back! Thy work shall weigh on thee

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