No, by the God of Gods, the all-seeing Sun! May he desert me here, and every friend With him, to death and utterest malison, vv. 665-680 [Pg 39] If e'er my heart could dream of such an end! But it bleedeth, it bleedeth sore, In a land half slain, If we join to the griefs of yore Griefs of you twain. Oedipus. Oedipus. Oh, let him go, though it be utterly My death, or flight from Thebes in beggary. 'Tis thy sad lips, not his, that make me know Pity. Him I shall hate, where'er he go. Creon. Creon. I see thy mercy moving full of hate And slow; thy wrath came swift and desperate. Methinks, of all the pain that such a heart
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