e: vv. 274-289]

Whose will is one with mine, may Justice stand
Your helper, and all gods for evermore.

[_The crowd disperses._

LEADER.

O King, even while thy curse yet hovers o'er
My head, I answer thee. I slew him not,
Nor can I shew the slayer. But, God wot,
If Phoebus sends this charge, let Phoebus read
Its meaning and reveal who did the deed.

OEDIPUS.

Aye, that were just, if of his grace he would
Reveal it. How shall man compel his God?

LEADER.

Second to that, methinks, 'twould help us most ...

OEDIPUS.

Though it be third, speak! Nothing should be lost.

LEADER.

To our High Seer on earth vision is given
Most like to that High Phoebus hath in heaven.
Ask of Tiresias: he could tell thee true.

OEDIPUS.

That also have I thought for. Aye, and two
Heralds have sent ere now. 'Twas Creon set
Me on.--I marvel that he comes not yet.

[Sidenote: vv. 290-301]

LEADER.

Our other clues are weak, old signs and far.

OEDIPUS.

What signs? I needs must question all that are.

LEADER.

Some travellers slew him, the tale used to be.

OEDIPUS.

The tale, yes: but the witness, where is he?

LEADER.

The man hath heard thy curses. If he knows
The taste of fear, he will not long stay close.

OEDIPUS.

He fear my words, who never feared the deed?

LEADER.

Well, there is one shall find him.--See, they lead
Hither our Lord Tiresias, in whose mind
All truth is born, alone of human kind.

[_Enter_ TIRESIAS _led by a young disciple. He is an old
blind man in a prophet's robe, dark, unkempt and
sinister in appearance._

OEDIPUS.

Tiresias, thou whose mind divineth well
All Truth, the spoken and the unspeakable,

[Sidenote: vv. 302-321]

The things of heaven and them that walk the earth;
Our city ... thou canst see, for all thy dearth
Of outward eyes, what clouds are over her.
In which, O gracious Lord, no minister
Of help, no champion, can we find at all
Save thee. For Phoebus--thou hast heard withal
His message--to our envoy hath decreed
One only way of help in this great need:
To find and smite with death or banishing,
Him who smote Laius, our ancient King.
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