Oedipus monologue — Specimens of Greek Tragedy — Aeschylus and Sophocles

Poor children, little needs to tell me that For which ye come to pray; too well I know Ye all are sick. And, sick as ye may be, There is not one whose sickness equals mine. The grief of each of you touches himself, And touches none beside: your sovereign's heart Bears your griefs, and the city's and his own. Not from a slumber have ye wakened me, Trust me, I many an anxious tear have shed, And many a path have tried in wandering thought. Such remedy as, scanning all, I find I have applied. Creon, Menoeceus' son And my Queen's brother, to the Pythian shrine Of Phoebus I have sent to ask what act Or word of mine this city will redeem. And now, as anxiously I mete the time, My soul is troubled, for, to my surprise, He has been absent longer than he ought. But when he comes, a caitiff I shall be If I do not all that the god ordains.