crowned, with the names of_ OEDIPUS _and_ JOCASTA,
_written above in great characters of gold._

_Adr._ Either I dream, and all my cooler senses
Are vanished with that cloud that fleets away,
Or just above those two majestic heads,
I see, I read distinctly, in large gold,
_OEdipus and Jocasta._

_Alc._ I read the same.

_Adr._ 'Tis wonderful; yet ought not man to wade
Too far in the vast deep of destiny.
[_Thunder; and the Prodigies vanish._

_Joc._ My lord, my OEdipus, why gaze you now,
When the whole heaven is clear, as if the gods
Had some new monsters made? will you not turn,
And bless your people, who devour each word
You breathe?

_OEdip._ It shall be so.
Yes, I will die, O Thebes, to save thee!
Draw from my heart my blood, with more content
Than e'er I wore thy crown.--Yet, O Jocasta!
By all the endearments of miraculous love,
By all our languishings, our fears in pleasure,
Which oft have made us wonder; here I swear,
On thy fair hand, upon thy breast I swear,
I cannot call to mind, from budding childhood
To blooming youth, a crime by me committed,
For which the awful gods should doom my death.

_Joc._ 'Tis not you, my lord,
But he who murdered Laius, frees the land.
Were you, which is impossible, the man,
Perhaps my poniard first should drink your blood;
But you are innocent, as your Jocasta,
From crimes like those. This made me violent
To save your life, which you unjust would lose:
Nor can you comprehend, with deepest thought,
The horrid agony you cast me in,
When you resolved to die.

_OEdip._ Is't possible?

_Joc._ Alas! why start you so? Her stiffening grief,
Who saw her children slaughtered all at once,
Was dull to mine: Methinks, I should have made
My bosom bare against the armed god,
To save my OEdipus!

_OEdip._ I pray, no more.

_Joc._ You've silenced me, my lord.

_OEdip._ Pardon me, dear Jocasta!
Pardon a heart that sinks with sufferings,
And can but vent itself in sobs and murmurs:
Yet, to restore my peace, I'll find him out.
Yes, yes, you gods! you shall have ample vengeance
On Laius' murderer. O, the traitor's name!
I'll know't, I will; art shall be conjured for it,
And nature all unravelled.

_Joc._ Sacred sir--

_OEdip._ Rage will have way, and 'tis but just; I'll fetch him,
Though lodged in air upon a dragon's wing,
Though rocks should hide him: Nay, he shall be dragged
From hell, if charms can hurry him along:
His ghost shall