And save my life and fame. But what detains him?
Why hastes he not? Ægina, fly—

Why hastes he not? Ægina, fly— He's here.
O prince, my soul is on the rack; I blush
To see the man whom duty bids me shun,
Which says I should forget and not betray thee.
Doubtless thou knowest the dreadful fate that hangs
O'er thy devoted head.

O'er thy devoted head. The clamorous people
Demand my life; but they have suffered much,
And therefore, though unjust, I pity them.

Yield not thyself a victim to their rage:
Away, begone; as yet thou art thyself
The master of thy fate; but this perhaps
Is the last minute that can give me power
To save thee: far, O fly far from Jocaste;
And, in return for added life, I beg thee
But to forget 'twas I who thus preserved it.

I could have wished, Jocaste, thou hadst shown
More strength of mind, and less compassion for me;
Preferred with me my honor to my life,
And rather bade me die than meanly quit