Oedipus: A Tragedy. As it is Acted at His Highness the Duke of York's Theater

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Printed in the year, 1724 - English drama - 77 pages
 

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Page 53 - E'en wondered at because he dropt no sooner; Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years; Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more, Till, like a clock worn out with eating Time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still.
Page 26 - tis for this the wet 340 Starv'd Soldier lies all night on the cold ground; For this he bears the storms Of Winter Camps, and freezes in his Arms: To be thus circled, to be thus embrac'd. That I could hold thee ever!
Page 72 - To have seen her mouth the heavens, and mate the gods, While with her thundering voice she menaced high, And every accent twang'd with smarting sorrow. But what's all this to thee ? thou, coward, yet Art living, canst not, wilt not find the road To the great palace of magnificent Death ; Though thousand ways lead to his thousand doors, Which, day and night, are still unbarr'd for all.
Page 5 - And half o'ercome with beast, stood doubting long, Whose right in thee were more; And knew not, if to burn thee in the flames, Were not the holier work.
Page 37 - Tis done. Tir. Is the sacrifice made fit ? Draw her backward to the pit ;• Draw the barren heifer back; Barren let her be, and black. Cut the curled hair that grows Full betwixt her...
Page 64 - Fall darkness then, and everlasting night Shadow the globe ; may the sun never dawn ; The silver moon be blotted from her orb ; And for an universal rout of nature Through all the inmost chambers of the sky, May there not be a glimpse, one starry spark, But gods meet gods, and jostle in the dark ; That jars may rise, and wrath divine be hurl'd, Which may to atoms shake the solid world ! [Exeunt.
Page 21 - Entomb'd alive, starts and dilates himself; He struggles, and he tears my aged trunk With holy fury ; my old arteries burst...
Page 18 - If that the glow-worm light of human reason Might dare to offer at immortal knowledge, And cope with gods, why all this storm of nature ? Why do the rocks split, and why rolls the sea ? Why those portents in heaven, and plagues on earth ? Why yon...
Page 29 - What mean you by these words ? Cre. 'Tis better not to be, than to be Creon. A thinking soul is punishment enough ; But when 'tis great, like mine, and wretched too, Then every thought draws blood.
Page 46 - The god, to tell my certain parentage. He bade me seek no farther : 'Twas my fate To kill my father, and pollute his bed, By marrying her who bore me. Joe. Vain, vain oracles ! CEdip.

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