CEDIPUS TYRANNUS; OR, SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT. A TRAGEDY, IN TWO ACTS. TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL DORIC. -Choose Reform or Civil War, When through thy streets, instead of hare with dogs, ADVERTISEMENT. THIS tragedy is one of a triad, or system of three plays (an arrangement according to which the Greeks were accustomed to connect their dramatic representations), elucidating the wonderful and appalling fortunes of the Swellfoot dynasty. It was evidently written by some learned Theban; and, from its characteristic dullness, apparently before the duties on the importation of Attic salt had been repealed by the Boeotarchs. The tenderness with which he treats the Pigs proves him to have been a sus Baotia, possibly Epicuri de grege porcus; for, as the poet observes- "A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind." No liberty has been taken with the translation of this remarkable piece of antiquity, except the suppressing a seditious and blasphemous chorus of the Pigs and Bulls at the last act. The word Hoydipouse (or more properly Edipus) has been rendered literally Swellfoot, without its having been conceived necessary to determine whether a swelling of the hind or the fore feet of the Swinish Monarch is particularly indicated. Should the remaining portions of this tragedy be found, entitled Swellfoot in Angaria and Charité, the translator might be tempted to give them to the reading public. SCENE I.-A magnificent Temple, built of thigh-bones and death'sheads, and tiled with scalps. Over the altar the statue of Famine, veiled; a number of Boars, Sows, and Sucking Pigs, crowned with thistle, shamrock, and oak, sitting on the steps, and clinging round the altar of the Temple. Enter SWELLFOOT, in his royal robes, without perceiving the Pigs. Swellfoot. Thou supreme Goddess, by whose power divine These graceful limbs are clothed in proud array [He contemplates himself with satisfaction. Of gold and purple, and this kingly paunch The Swine. Eigh! eigh! eigh! eigh! Ha! what are ye, Who, crowned with leaves devoted to the Furies, Cling round this sacred shrine? Swine. Aigh! aigh! aigh! Swellfoot. What! ye that are The very beasts that, offered at her altar With blood and groans, salt-cake and fat and inwards, When taxes are withheld? Swine. Ugh! ugh! ugh! Swellfoot. What! ye who grub With filthy snouts my red potatoes up In Allen's rushy Bog? who eat the oats Who swill the hog-wash soup my cooks digest THE SWINE.-SEMICHORUS I. SEMICHORUS II. If 'twere your kingly will Us wretched Swine to kill, What should we yield to thee? Swellfoot. Why, skin and bones, and some few hairs for mortar. CHORUS OF Swine. I have heard your Laureate sing Under your mighty ancestors, we Pigs The murrain and the mange, the scab and itch; FIRST SOW. My Pigs, 'tis in vain to tug! SECOND SOw. I could almost eat my litter! FIRST PIG. I suck, but no milk will come from the dug. SECOND PIG. Our skin and our bones would be bitter. THE BOARS. We fight for this rag of greasy rug, Though a trough of wash would be fitter. SEMICHORUS. Happier Swine were they than we, Drowned in the Gadarean Sea !— I wish that Pity would drive out the devils To bind your mortar with, or fill our colons Swellfoot. This is sedition and rank blasphemy! Guard. Enter a GUARD. Your sacred Majesty ? Swellfoot. Call in the Jews, Solomon the court-porkman, Moses the sow-gelder, and Zephaniah The hog-butcher. Guard. They are in waiting, sire. Enter SOLOMON, MOSES, and ZEPHANIAH. Swellfoot. Out with your knife, old Moses, and spay those Sows [The Pigs run about in consternation That load the earth with Pigs; cut close and deep. Moral restraint I see has no effect, Nor prostitution, nor our own example, Starvation, typhus-fever, war, nor prison. This was the art which the Arch-priest of Famine Hinted at in his charge to the Theban clergy. Cut close and deep, good Moses. Moses. Keep the Boars quiet, else— Let your Majesty Swellfoot. Zephaniah, cut That fat Hog's throat; the brute seems overfed. Zephaniah. Your sacred Majesty, he has the dropsy; He has not half an inch of wholesome fat Upon his carious ribs. Swellfoot. 'Tis all the same ; He'll serve instead of riot-money when Our murmuring troops bivouaque in Thebes streets; And January winds, after a day Of butchering, will make them relish carrion. Now, Solomon, I'll sell you in a lump The whole kit of them. Solomon. I could not give- Why, your Majesty, Kill them out of the way; That shall be price enough. And let me hear Their everlasting grunts and whines no more! [Exeunt, driving-in the Swine. Enter MAMMON, the Arch-Priest; and PYRGANAX,1 Chief of the Council of Wizards. Pyrganax. The future looks as black as death; a cloud, The troops grow mutinous-the revenue fails- The boldest turn their backs upon themselves! Mammon. Why, what's the matter, my dear fellow, now? Do the troops mutiny ?—decimate some regiments ; Does money fail ?-come to my mint-coin paper, Till gold be at a discount, and, ashamed To show his bilious face, go purge himself, In emulation of her vestal whiteness. oracle ; Pyrganax. Oh would that this were all! The oracle! Pyrganax. The words went thus : "Boeotia, choose reform or civil war, When through thy streets,' instead of hare with dogs, |