pleafing to the fight. Is not the comparison equally juft and beautiful? Mr. de la Faye, I own, has confuted la Motte in a much better manner than myself; he followed the example of the philosopher, who anfwered the fophift, that denied there was any such thing as motion, only by walking before him. Mr. de la Motte denies the harmony of verfes; Mr. de la Faye fends him fome verses full of harmony: thi alone should teach me alfo to put an end to my profe.

VOL. I.

C

DRAMATIS

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

OEDIPUS, King of Thebes.

JOCASTA, Queen of Thebes.
PHILOCTETES, Prince of Eubæa.

HIGH-PRIEST.

ARASPES, Confident of Oedipus.
EGINA, Confidente of Jocafta.
DIMAS, Friend of Phlioctetes.

PHORBAS, an old Man of Thebes.
ICARUS, an old Man of Corinth.

CHORUS of THE BAN S.

SCENE THEBES.

OEDIPUS.

'''

OEDIPUS.

A

TRAGEDY.

I

ACT I. SCENE I.

PHILOCTETES, DIMAS.

DIMAS.

S it my friend, my Philoctetes? Whence

And wherefore com'ft thou to distemper'd Thebes

In fearch of death, to brave the wrath of heav'n?

For, know, the gods on this devoted land

Wreak their full vengeance: mortals dare not tread
The guilty foil, to death and horror long
Confign'd, and from the living world cut off:
Away; be gone.

PHILOCTETES.

It fuits a wretch like me :

Leave me, my friend, to my unhappy fate;

And only tell me, if the wrath divine

Hath, in its rapid progress, spar'd the queen.

DIMAS.

Jocasta lives; but round her throne still spreads
The dire contagion; ev'ry fatal moment

Deprives her of some faithful subject: death
Steals clofer by degrees, and feems to threat
Her facred life. But heav'n, we truft, will foon
Withdraw its vengeful arm: such scenes of blood
Will fure appease its rage.

PHILOCTETES.

Ha! Laius dead! indeed!

What sweet seducing hope awakes my foul?

Jocafta! will the gods at length be kind?

May

May Philoctetes ftill be thine? But fay,
Dimas, how fell the king?

DIMAS.

'Tis four years fince

For the last time towards Bæotia, led

By fate, you came; scarce had you bent your way To Afia, e'er th' unhappy Laius fell

By some base hand.

PHILOCTETES.

Affaffinated, fay't thou?

DIMAS.

This was the cause, the fource of all our ills,
The ruin of this wretched country: shock'd
At the fad stroke, we wept the gen'ral loss,
When lo! the minifter of wrath divine,
(Fatal to innocence, and fav'ring long
Unpunish'd guilt) a dreadful monfter came,
(O Philoctetes, wou'd thou had'ft been here!)
And ravag'd all our borders, horrid form!
Made for deftruction by avenging heav'n,
With human voice, an eagle, woman, lion,
Unnat❜ral mixture! rage with cunning join'd
United to destroy us: nought remain'd
To fave but this alone; in phrafe obfcure