Medwin says that Edipus stands for George IV., lona Taurina for Queen Caroline; Laoctonos for Wellington; Pur ganax for Castlereagh; and Dakry for Lord Eldon, "from his lachrymose propensities." — Life of Shelley, ii. 29. CEDIPUS TYRANNUS. ACT I. SCENE I-A magnificent Temple, built of thigh-bones ana death's-heads, and tiled with scalps. Over the Altar the statue of Famine, veiled; a number of bours, 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 Of gold and purple, and this kingly paunch • See Universal History for an account of the number of people who died, and the immense consumption of garlic by the wretched Egyptians, who made a sepulchre for the name es well as the bodies of their tyrants. Sustain the cone of my untroubled brain, THE SWINE. Eigh! eigh! eigh! eigh! SWELLFOOT. 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, Ever propitiate her reluctant will When taxes are withheld? Ugh! ugh! ugh! SWINE. SWELLFOOT. What! ye who grub With filthy snouts my red potatoes up THE SWINE. SEM ICHORUS I. The same, alas! the same; 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 Were bless'd as nightingales on myrtle sprigs, Or grasshoppers that live on noon-day dew, And sung, old annals tell, as sweetly too; But now our sties are fallen in, we catch The murrain and the mange, the scab and itch; Sometimes your royal dogs tear down our thatch, And then we seek the shelter of a ditch; Hog-wash or grains, or ruta-baga, none Has yet been ours since your reign begun. 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, SEMICHORUS. Happier swine were they than we, I wish that pity would drive out the devils |