{"collection":"Classics","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/cla/soph/philoct.htm","path":"cla/soph/philoct.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/cla/soph/philoct.htm","text":"Dramatis Personae\nULYSSES, King of Ithaca\nNEOPTOLEMUS, son of Achilles\nPHILOCTETES, son of Poeas and Companion of HERCULES\nA SPY\nHERCULES\nCHORUS, composed of the companions of ULYSSES and NEOPTOLEMUS\nA lonely region on the shore of Lemnos, before a steep cliff in which\nis the entrance to PHILOCTETES' cave. ULYSSES, NEOPTOLEMUS and an\nattendant enter.\nULYSSES At length, my noble friend, thou bravest son\nOf a brave father- father of us all,\nThe great Achilles- we have reached the shore\nOf sea-girt Lemnos, desert and forlorn,\nWhere never tread of human step is seen,\nOr voice of mortal heard, save his alone,\nPoor Philoctetes, Poeas' wretched son,\nWhom here I left; for such were my commands\nFrom Grecia's chiefs, when by his fatal wound\nOppressed, his groans and execrations dreadful\nAlarmed our hosts, our sacred rites profaned,\nAnd interrupted holy sacrifice.\nBut why should I repeat the tale? The time\nAdmits not of delay. We must not linger,\nLest he discover our arrival here,\nAnd all our purposed fraud to draw him hence\nBe ineffectual. Lend me then thy aid.\nSurveying round thee, canst thou see a rock\nWith double entrance- to the sun's warm rays\nIn winter open, and in summer's heat\nGiving free passage to the welcome breeze?\nA little to the left there is a fountain\nOf living water, where, if yet he breathes,\nHe slakes his thirst. If aught thou seest of this\nInform me; so shall each to each impart\nCounsel most fit, and serve our common cause.\nNEOPTOLEMUS (leaving ULYSSES a little behind him) If I mistake not,\nI behold a cave,\nE'en such as thou describst.\nULYSSES Dost thou? which way?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Yonder it is; but no path leading thither,\nOr trace of human footstep.\nULYSSES In his cell\nA chance but he hath lain down to rest:\nLook if he hath not.\nNEOPTOLEMUS (advancing to the cave) Not a creature there.\nULYSSES Nor food, nor mark of household preparation?\nNEOPTOLEMUS A rustic bed of scattered leaves.\nULYSSES What more?\nNEOPTOLEMUS A wooden bowl, the work of some rude hand,\nWith a few sticks for fuel.\nULYSSES This is all\nHis little treasure here.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Unhappy man!\nSome linen for his wounds.\nULYSSES This must be then\nHis place of habitation; far from hence\nHe cannot roam; distempered as he is,\nIt were impossible. He is but gone\nA little way for needful food, or herb\nOf power to 'suage and mitigate his pain,\nWherefore despatch this servant to some place\nOf observation, whence he may espy\nHis every motion, lest he rush upon us.\nThere's not a Grecian whom his soul so much\nCould wish to crush beneath him as Ulysses. (He makes a signal to\nthe Attendant. who retires.)\nNEOPTOLEMUS He's gone to guard each avenue; and now,\nIf thou hast aught of moment to impart\nTouching our purpose, say it; I attend.\nULYSSES Son of Achilles, mark me well! Remember,\nWhat we are doing not on strength alone,\nOr courage, but oil conduct will depend;\nTherefore if aught uncommon be proposed,\nStrange to thy ears and adverse to thy nature,\nReflect that 'tis thy duty to comply,\nAnd act conjunctive with me.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Well, what is it?\nULYSSES We must deceive this Philoctetes; that\nWill be thy task. When he shall ask thee who\nAnd what thou art, Achilles'son reply-\nThus far within the verge of truth, no more.\nAdd that resentment fired thee to forsake\nThe Grecian fleet, and seek thy native soil,\nUnkindly used by those who long with vows\nHad sought thy aid to humble haughty Troy,\nAnd when thou cam'st, ungrateful as they were.\nThe arms of great Achilles, thy just right,\nGave to Ulysses. Here thy bitter taunts\nAnd sharp invectives liberally bestow\nOn me. Say what thou wilt, I shall forgive,\nAnd Greece will not forgive thee if thou dost not;\nFor against Troy thy efforts are all vain\nWithout his arrows. Safely thou mayst hold\nFriendship and converse with him, but I cannot.\nThou wert not with us when the war began,\nNor bound by solemn oath to join our host,\nAs I was; me he knows, and if he find\nThat I am with thee, we are both undone.\nThey must be ours then, these all-conquering arms;\nRemember that. I know thy noble nature\nAbhors the thought of treachery or fraud.\nBut what a glorious prize is victory!\nTherefore be bold; we will be just hereafter.\nGive to deceit and me a little portion\nOf one short day, and for thy future life\nBe called the holiest, worthiest, best of men.\nNEOPTOLEMUS What but to hear alarms my conscious soul,\nSon of Laertes, I shall never practise.\nI was not born to flatter or betray;\nNor I, nor he- the voice of fame reports-\nWho gave me birth. What open arms can do\nBehold me prompt to act, but ne'er to fraud\nWill I descend. Sure we can more than match\nIn strength a foe thus lame and impotent.\nI came to be a helpmate to thee, not\nA base betrayer; and, O king! believe me,\nRather, much rather would I fall by virtue\nThan rise by guilt to certain victory.\nULYSSES O noble youth! and worthy of thy sire!\nWhen I like thee was young, like thee of strength\nAnd courage boastful, little did I deem\nOf human policy; but long experience\nHath taught me, son, 'tis not the powerful arm,\nBut soft enchanting tongue that governs all.\nNEOPTOLEMUS And thou wouldst have me tell an odious falsehood?\nULYSSES He must be gained by fraud.\nNEOPTOLEMUS By fraud? And why\nNot by persuasion?\nULYSSES He'll not listen to it;\nAnd force were vainer still.\nNEOPTOLEMUS What mighty power\nHath he to boast?\nULYSSES His arrows winged with death\nInevitable.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Then it were not safe\nE'en to approach him.\nULYSSES No; unless by fraud\nHe be secured.\nNEOPTOLEMUS And thinkst thou 'tis not base\nTo tell a lie then?\nULYSSES Not if on that lie\nDepends our safety.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Who shall dare to tell it\nWithout a blush?\nULYSSES We need not blush at aught\nThat may promote our interest and success.\nNEOPTOLEMUS But where's the interest that should bias me?\nCome he or not to Troy, imports it aught\nTo Neoptolemus?\nULYSSES Troy cannot fall\nWithout his arrows.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Saidst thou not that I\nWas destined to destroy her?\nULYSSES Without them\nNaught canst thou do, and they without thee nothing.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Then I must have them.\nULYSSES When thou hast, remember\nA double prize awaits thee.\nNEOPTOLEMUS What, Ulysses?\nULYSSES The glorious names of valiant and of wise.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Away! I'll do it. Thoughts of guilt or shame\nNo more appal me.\nULYSSES Wilt thou do it then?\nWilt thou remember what I told thee of?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Depend on 't; I have promised- that's sufficient.\nULYSSES Here then remain thou; I must not be seen.\nIf thou stay long, I'll send a faithful spy,\nWho in a sailor's habit well disguised\nMay pass unknown; of him, from time to time,\nWhat best may suit our purpose thou shalt know.\nI'll to the ship. Farewell! and may the god\nWho brought us here, the fraudful Mercury,\nAnd great Minerva, guardian of our country,\nAnd ever kind to me, protect us still! (ULYSSES goes out as the CHORUS\nenters. The following lines are chanted responsively between NEOPTOLEMUS\nand the CHORUS.)\nCHORUS (strophe 1)\nMaster, instruct us, strangers as we are,\nWhat we may utter, what we must conceal.\nDoubtless the man we seek will entertain\nSuspicion of us; how are we to act?\nTo those alone belongs the art to rule\nWho bear the sceptre from the hand of Jove;\nTo thee of right devolves the power supreme,\nFrom thy great ancestors delivered down;\nSpeak then, our royal lord, and we obey.\nNEOPTOLEMUS (systema 1)\nIf you would penetrate yon deep recess\nTo seek the cave where Philoctetes lies,\nGo forward; but remember to return\nWhen the poor wanderer comes this way, prepared\nTo aid our purpose here if need require.\nCHORUS (antistrophe 1)\nO king! we ever meant to fix our eyes\nOn thee, and wait attentive to thy will;\nBut, tell us, in what part is he concealed?\n'Tis fit we know the place, lest unobserved\nHe rush upon us. Which way doth it lie?\nSeest thou his footsteps leading from the cave,\nOr hither bent?\nNEOPTOLEMUS (advancing towards the cave, systema 2)\nBehold the double door\nOf his poor dwelling, and the flinty bed.\nCHORUS And whither is its wretched master gone?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Doubtless in search of food, and not far off,\nFor such his manner is; accustomed here,\nSo fame reports, to pierce with winged arrows\nHis savage prey for daily sustenance,\nHis wound still painful, and no hope of cure.\nCHORUS (strophe 2)\nAlas! I pity him. Without a friend,\nWithout a fellow-sufferer, left alone,\nDeprived of all the mutual joys that flow\nFrom sweet society- distempered too!\nHow can he bear it? O unhappy race\nOf mortal man! doomed to an endless round\nOf sorrows, and immeasurable woe!\n(antistrophe 2)\nSecond to none in fair nobility\nWas Philoctetes, of illustrious race;\nYet here he lies, from every human aid\nFar off removed, in dreadful solitude,\nAnd mingles with the wild and savage herd;\nWith them in famine and in misery\nConsumes his days, and weeps their common fate,\nUnheeded, save when babbling echo mourns\nIn bitterest notes responsive to his woe.\nNEOPTOLEMUS (systema 3)\nAnd yet I wonder not; for if aright\nI judge, from angry heaven the sentence came,\nAnd Chrysa was the cruel source of all;\nNor doth this sad disease inflict him still\nIncurable, without assenting gods?\nFor so they have decreed, lest Troy should fall\nBeneath his arrows ere the' appointed time\nOf its destruction come.\nCHORUS (strophe 3)\nNo more, my son!\nNEOPTOLEMUS What sayst thou?\nCHORUS Sure I heard a dismal groan\nOf some afflicted wretch.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Which way?\nCHORUS E'en now\nI hear it, and the sound as of some step\nSlow-moving this way. He is not far from us.\nHis plaints are louder now.\n(antistrophe 3)\nPrepare, my son!\nNEOPTOLEMUS For what?\nCHORUS New troubles; for behold he comes!\nNot like the shepherd with his rural pipe\nAnd cheerful song, but groaning heavily.\nEither his wounded foot against some thorn\nHath struck, and pains him sorely, or perchance\nHe hath espied from far some ship attempting\nTo enter this inhospitable port,\nAnd hence his cries to save it from destruction. (PHILOCTETES enters,\nclad in rags. He moves with difficulty and is obviously suffering\npain from his injured foot.)\nPHILOCTETES Say, welcome strangers, what disastrous fate\nLed you to this inhospitable shore,\nNor haven safe, nor habitation fit\nAffording ever? Of what clime, what race?\nWho are ye? Speak! If I may trust that garb,\nFamiliar once to me, ye are of Greece,\nMy much-loved country. Let me hear the sound\nOf your long wished-for voices. Do not look\nWith horror on me, but in kind compassion\nPity a wretch deserted and forlorn\nIn this sad place. Oh! if ye come as friends,\nSpeak then, and answer- hold some converse with me,\nFor this at least from man to man is due.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Know, stranger, first what most thou seemst to wish;\nWe are of Greece.\nPHILOCTETES Oh! happiness to hear!\nAfter so many years of dreadful silence,\nHow welcome was that sound! Oh! tell me, son,\nWhat chance, what purpose, who conducted thee?\nWhat brought thee thither, what propitious gale?\nWho art thou? Tell me all- inform me quickly.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Native of Scyros, hither I return;\nMy name is Neoptolemus, the son\nOf brave Achilles. I have told thee all.\nPHILOCTETES Dear is thy country, and thy father dear\nTo me, thou darling of old Lycomede;\nBut tell me in what fleet, and whence thou cam'st.\nNEOPTOLEMUS From Troy.\nPHILOCTETES From Troy? I think thou wert not with us\nWhen first our fleet sailed forth.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Wert thou then there?\nOr knowst thou aught of that great enterprise?\nPHILOCTETES Know you not then the man whom you behold?\nNEOPTOLEMUS How should I know whom I had never seen?\nPHILOCTETES Have you ne'er heard of me, nor of my name?\nHath my sad story never reached your ear?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Never.\nPHILOCTETES Alas! how hateful to the gods,\nHow very poor a wretch must I be then,\nThat Greece should never hear of woes like mine!\nBut they who sent me hither, they concealed them,\nAnd smile triumphant, whilst my cruel wounds\nGrow deeper still. O, sprung from great Achilles!\nBehold before thee Poeas' wretched son,\nWith whom, a chance but thou hast heard, remain\nThe dreadful arrows of renowned Alcides,\nE'en the unhappy Philoctetes- him\nWhom the Atreidae and the vile Ulysses\nInhuman left, distempered as I was\nBy the envenomed serpent's deep-felt wound.\nSoon as they saw that, with long toil oppressed,\nSleep had o'ertaken me on the hollow rock,\nThere did they leave me when from Chrysa's shore\nThey bent their fatal course; a little food\nAnd these few rags were all they would bestow.\nSuch one day be their fate! Alas! my son,\nHow dreadful, thinkst thou, was that waking to me,\nWhen from my sleep I rose and saw them not!\nHow did I weep! and mourn my wretched state!\nWhen not a ship remained of all the fleet\nThat brought me here- no kind companion left\nTo minister or needful food or balm\nTo my sad wounds. On every side I looked,\nAnd nothing saw but woe; of that indeed\nMeasure too full. For day succeeded day,\nAnd still no comfort came; myself alone\nCould to myself the means of life afford,\nIn this poor grotto. On my bow I lived:\nThe winged dove, which my sharp arrow slew,\nWith pain I brought into my little hut,\nAnd feasted there; then from the broken ice\nI slaked my thirst, or crept into the wood\nFor useful fuel; from the stricken flint\nI drew the latent spark, that warms me still\nAnd still revives. This with my humble roof\nPreserve me, son. But, oh! my wounds remain.\nThou seest an island desolate and waste;\nNo friendly port nor hopes of gain to tempt,\nNor host to welcome in the traveller;\nFew seek the wild inhospitable shore.\nBy adverse winds, sometimes th' unwilling guests,\nAs well thou mayst suppose, were hither driven;\nBut when they came, they only pitied me,\nGave me a little food, or better garb\nTo shield me from the cold; in vain I prayed\nThat they would bear me to my native soil,\nFor none would listen. Here for ten long years\nHave I remained, whilst misery and famine\nKeep fresh my wounds, and double my misfortune.\nThis have th' Atreidae and Ulysses done,\nAnd may the gods with equal woes repay them!\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS O, son of Poeas! well might those, who came\nAnd saw thee thus, in kind compassion weep;\nI too must pity thee- I can no more.\nNEOPTOLEMUS I can bear witness to thee, for I know\nBy sad experience what th' Atreidae are,\nAnd what Ulysses.\nPHILOCTETES Hast thou suffered then?\nAnd dost thou hate them too?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Oh! that these hands\nCould vindicate my wrongs! Mycenae then\nAnd Sparta should confess that Scyros boasts\nOf sons as brave and valiant as their own.\nPHILOCTETES O noble youth! But wherefore cam'st thou hither?\nWhence this resentment?\nNEOPTOLEMUS I will tell thee all,\nIf I can bear to tell it. Know then, soon\nAs great Achilles died-\nPHILOCTETES Oh, stay, my son!\nIs then Achilles dead?\nNEOPTOLEMUS He is, and not\nBy mortal hand, but by Apollo's shaft\nFell glorious.\nPHILOCTETES Oh! most worthy of each other,\nThe slayer and the slain! Permit me, son,\nTo mourn his fate, ere I attend to thine.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Alas! thou needst not weep for others' woes,\nThou hast enough already of thy own.\nPHILOCTETES 'Tis very true; and therefore to thy tale.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Thus then it was. Soon as Achilles died,\nPhoenix, the guardian of his tender years,\nInstant sailed forth, and sought me out at Scyros;\nWith him the wary chief Ulysses came.\nThey told me then (or true or false I know not),\nMy father dead, by me, and me alone\nProud Troy must fall. I yielded to their prayers;\nI hoped to see at least the dear remains\nOf him whom living I had long in vain\nWished to behold. Safe at Sigeum's port\nSoon we arrived. In crowds the numerous host\nThronged to embrace me, called the gods to witness\nIn me once more they saw their loved Achilles\nTo life restored; but he, alas! was gone.\nI shed the duteous tear, then sought my friends\nTh' Atreidae friends I thought 'em!-claimed the arms\nOf my dead father, and what else remained\nHis late possession: when- O cruel words!\nAnd wretched I to hear them- thus they answered:\n\"Son of Achilles, thou in vain demandst\nThose arms already to Ulysses given;\nThe rest be thine.\" I wept. \"And is it thus,\"\nIndignant I replied, \"ye dare to give\nMy right away?\" \"Know, boy,\" Ulysses cried,\n\"That right was mine. and therefore they bestowed\nThe boon on me: me who preserved the arms,\nAnd him who bore them too.\" With anger fired\nAt this proud speech, I threatened all that rage\nCould dictate to me if he not returned them.\nStung with my words, yet calm, he answered me:\n\"Thou wert not with us; thou wert in a place\nWhere thou shouldst not have been; and since thou meanst\nTo brave us thus, know, thou shalt never bear\nThose arms with thee to Scyros; 'tis resolved.\"\nThus injured, thus deprived of all I held\nMost precious, by the worst of men, I left\nThe hateful place, and seek my native soil.\nNor do I blame so much the proud Ulysses\nAs his base masters- army, city, all\nDepend on those who rule. When men grow vile\nThe guilt is theirs who taught them to be wicked.\nI've told thee all, and him who hates the Atreidae\nI hold a friend to me and to the gods.\nCHORUS (singing) O Earth! thou mother of great Jove,\nEmbracing all with universal love,\nAuthor benign of every good,\nThrough whom Pactolus rolls his golden flood!\nTo thee, whom in thy rapid car\nFierce lions draw, I rose and made my prayer-\nTo thee I made my sorrows known,\nWhen from Achilles' injured son\nTh' Atreidae gave the prize, that fatal day\nWhen proud Ulysses bore his arms away.\nPHILOCTETES I wonder not, my friend, to see you here,\nAnd I believe the tale; for well I know\nThe man who wronged you, know the base Ulysses\nFalsehood and fraud dwell on his lips, and nought\nThat's just or good can be expected from him.\nBut strange it is to me that, Ajax present,\nHe dare attempt it.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Ajax is no more;\nHad he been living, I had ne'er been spoiled\nThus of my right.\nPHILOCTETES Is he then dead?\nNEOPTOLEMUS He is.\nPHILOCTETES Alas! the son of Tydeus, and that slave,\nSold by his father Sisyphus, they live,\nUnworthy as they are.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Alas! they do,\nAnd flourish still.\nPHILOCTETES My old and worthy friend\nThe Pylian sage, how is he? He could see\nTheir arts, and would have given them better counsels.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Weighed down with grief he lives, but most unhappy,\nWeeps his lost son, his dear Antilochus.\nPHILOCTETES O double woe! whom I could most have wished\nTo live and to be happy, those to perish!\nUlysses to survive! It should not be.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Oh! 'tis a subtle foe; but deepest plans\nMay sometimes fail.\nPHILOCTETES Where was Patroclus then,\nThy father's dearest friend?\nNEOPTOLEMUS He too was dead.\nIn war, alas- so fate ordains it ever-\nThe coward 'scapes, the brave and virtuous fall.\nPHILOCTETES It is too true; and now thou talkst of cowards,\nWhere is that worthless wretch, of readiest tongue,\nSubtle and voluble?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Ulysses?\nPHILOCTETES No;\nThersites, ever talking, never heard.\nNEOPTOLEMUS I have not seen him, but I hear he lives.\nPHILOCTETES I did not doubt it: evil never dies;\nThe gods take care of that. If aught there be\nFraudful and vile, 'tis safe; the good and just\nPerish unpitied by them. Wherefore is it?\nWhen gods do ill, why should we worship them?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Since thus it is, since virtue is oppressed,\nAnd vice triumphant, who deserve to live\nAre doomed to perish, and the guilty reign.\nHenceforth, O son of Poeas! far from Troy\nAnd the Atreidae will I live remote.\nI would not see the man I cannot love.\nMy barren Scyros shall afford me refuge,\nAnd home- felt joys delight my future days.\nSo, fare thee well, and may th' indulgent gods\nHeal thy sad wound, and grant thee every wish\nThy soul can form! Once more, farewell! I go,\nThe first propitious gale.\nPHILOCTETES What! now, my son?\nSo soon?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Immediately; the time demands\nWe should be near, and ready to depart.\nPHILOCTETES Now, by the memory of thy honoured sire,\nBy thy loved mother, by whate'er remains\nOn earth most dear to thee, oh! hear me now,\nThy suppliant! Do not, do not thus forsake me,\nAlone, oppressed, deserted, as thou seest,\nIn this sad place. I shall, I know it must, be\nA burthen to thee. But, oh! bear it kindly;\nFor ever doth the noble mind abhor\nTh' ungenerous deed, and loves humanity;\nDisgrace attends thee if thou dost forsake me,\nIf not, immortal fame rewards thy goodness.\nThou mayst convey me safe to Oeta's shores\nIn one short day; I'll trouble you no longer.\nHide me in any part where I may least\nMolest you. Hear me! By the guardian god\nOf the poor suppliant, all- protecting Jove,\nI beg. Behold me at thy feet, infirm,\nAnd wretched as I am, I clasp thy knees.\nLeave me not here then, where there is no mark\nOf human footstep- take me to thy home!\nOr to Euboea's port, to Oeta, thence\nShort is the way to Trachin, or the banks\nOf Spercheius' gentle stream, to meet my father,\nIf yet he lives; for, oh! I begged him oft\nBy those who hither came, to fetch me hence-\nOr is he dead, or they neglectful bent\nTheir hasty course to their own native soil.\nBe thou my better guide! Pity and save\nThe poor and wretched. Think, my son, how frail\nAnd full of danger is the state of man-\nNow prosperous, now adverse. Who feels no ills\nShould therefore fear them; and when fortune smiles\nBe doubly cautious, lest destruction come\nRemorseless on him, and he fall unpitied.\nCHORUS (singing) Oh, pity him, my lord, for bitterest woes\nAnd trials most severe he hath recounted;\nFar be such sad distress from those I love!\nOh! if thou hat'st the base Atreidae, now\nRevenge thee on them, serve their deadliest foe;\nBear the poor suppliant to his native soil;\nSo shalt thou bless thy friend, and 'scape the wrath\nOf the just gods, who still protect the wretched.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Your proffered kindness, friends, may cost you dear;\nWhen you shall feel his dreadful malady\nOppress you sore, you will repent it.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Never\nShall that reproach be ours.\nNEOPTOLEMUS In generous pity\nOf the afflicted thus to be o'ercome\nWere most disgraceful to me; he shall go.\nMay the kind gods speed our departure hence,\nAnd guide our vessels to the wished-for shore!\nPHILOCTETES O happy hour! O kindest, best of men!\nAnd you my dearest friends! how shall I thank you?\nWhat shall I do to show my grateful heart?\nLet us be gone! But, oh! permit me first\nTo take a last farewell of my poor hut,\nWhere I so long have lived. Perhaps you'll say\nI must have had a noble mind to bear it.\nThe very sight to any eyes but mine\nWere horrible, but sad necessity\nAt length prevailed, and made it pleasing to me.\nLEADER One from our ship, my lord, and with him comes\nA stranger. Stop a moment till we hear\nTheir business with us. (The Spy enters, dressed as a merchant. He\nis accompanied by one of NEOPTOLEMUS'men.)\nSPY Son of great Achilles,\nKnow, chance alone hath brought me hither, driven\nBy adverse winds to where thy vessels lay,\nAs home I sailed from Troy. There did I meet\nThis my companion, who informed me where\nThou mightst be found. Hence to pursue my course\nAnd not to tell thee what concerns thee near\nHad been ungenerous, thou perhaps meantime\nOf Greece and of her counsels naught suspecting,\nCounsels against thee not by threats alone\nOr words enforced, but now in execution.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Now by my virtue, stranger, for thy news\nI am much bound to thee, and will repay\nThy service. Tell me what the Greeks have done.\nSPY A fleet already sails to fetch thee back,\nConducted by old Phoenix, and the sons\nOf valiant Theseus.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Come they then to force me?\nOr am I to be won by their persuasion?\nSPY I know not that; you have what I could learn.\nNEOPTOLEMUS And did the' Atreidae send them?\nSPY Sent they are,\nAnd will be with you soon.\nNEOPTOLEMUS But wherefore then\nCame not Ulysses? Did his courage fail?\nSPY He, ere I left the camp, with Diomede\nOn some important embassy sailed forth\nIn search-\nNEOPTOLEMUS Of whom?\nSPY There was a man- but stay,\nWho is thy friend here, tell me, but speak softly.\nNEOPTOLEMUS (whispering to him) The famous Philoctetes.\nSPY Ha! begone then!\nAsk me no more- away, immediately!\nPHILOCTETES What do these dark mysterious whispers mean?\nConcern they me, my son?\nNEOPTOLEMUS I know not what\nHe means to say, but I would have him speak\nBoldly before us all, whate'er it be.\nSPY Do not betray me to the Grecian host,\nNor make me speak what I would fain conceal.\nI am but poor- they have befriended me.\nNEOPTOLEMUS In me thou seest an enemy confest\nTo the Atreidae. This is my best friend\nBecause he hates them too; if thou art mine,\nHide nothing then.\nSPY Consider first.\nNEOPTOLEMUS I have.\nSPY The blame will be on you.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Why, let it be:\nBut speak, I charge thee.\nSPY Since I must then, know,\nIn solemn league combined, the bold Ulysses\nAnd gallant Diomede have sworn by force\nOr by persuasion to bring back thy friend:\nThe Grecians heard Laertes' son declare\nHis purpose; far more resolute he seemed\nThan Diomede, and surer of success.\nNEOPTOLEMUS But why the' Atreidae, after so long time,\nAgain should wish to see this wretched exile,\nWhence this desire? Came it from th' angry gods\nTo punish thus their inhumanity?\nSPY I can inform you; for perhaps from Greece\nOf late you have not heard. There was a prophet,\nSon of old Priam, Helenus by name,\nHlim, in his midnight walks, the wily chief\nUlysses, curse of every tongue, espied;\nTook him. and led him captive. to the Creeks\nA welcome spoil. Much he foretold to all,\nAnd added last that Troy should never fall\nTill Philoctetes from this isle returned.\nUlysses heard, and instant promise gave\nTo fetch him hence; he hoped by gentle means\nTo gain him; those successless, force at last\nCould but compel him. He would go, he cried,\nAnd if he failed his head should pay th' forfeit.\nI've told thee all, and warn thee to be gone,\nThou and thy friend, if thou wouldst wish to save him.\nPHILOCTETES And does the traitor think he can persuade me?\nAs well might he persuade me to return\nFrom death to life, as his base father did.\nSPY Of that know not: I must to my ship.\nFarewell, and may the gods protect you both! (The Spy departs.)\nPHILOCTETES Lead me- expose me to the Grecian host!\nAnd could the insolent Ulysses hope\nWith his soft flatteries e'er to conquer me?\nNo! Sooner would I listen to the voice\nOf that fell serpent, whose envenomed tongue\nHath lamed me thus. But what is there he dare not\nOr say or do? I know he will be here\nE'en now, depend on't. Therefore, let's away!\nQuick let the sea divide us from Ulysses.\nLet us be gone; for well-timed expedition,\nThe task performed, brings safety and repose.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Soon as the wind permits us we embark,\nBut now 'tis adverse.\nPHILOCTETES Every wind is fair\nWhen we are flying from misfortune.\nNEOPTOLEMUS True;\nAnd 'tis against them too.\nPHILOCTETES Alas! no storms\nCan drive back fraud and rapine from their prey.\nNEOPTOLEMUS I'm ready. Take what may be necessary,\nAnd follow me.\nPHILOCTETES I want not much.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Perhaps\nMy ship will furnish you.\nPHILOCTETES There is a plant\nWhich to my wound gives some relief; I must\nHave that.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Is there aught else?\nPHILOCTETES Alas! my bow\nI had forgot. I must not lose that treasure. (PHILOCTETES steps into\nthe cave, and brings out his bow and arrows.)\nNEOPTOLEMUS Are these the famous arrows then?\nPHILOCTETES They are.\nNEOPTOLEMUS And may I be permitted to behold,\nTo touch, to pay my adoration to them?\nPHILOCTETES In these, my son, in everything that's mine\nThou hast a right,\nNEOPTOLEMUS But if it be a crime,\nI would not; otherwise-\nPHILOCTETES Oh! thou art full\nOf piety; in thee it is no crime;\nIn thee, my friend, by whom alone I look\nOnce more with pleasure on the radiant sun-\nBy whom I live- who giv'st me to return\nTo my dear father, to my friends, my country:\nSunk as I was beneath my foes, once more\nI rise to triumph o'er them by thy aid:\nBehold them, touch them, but return them to me,\nAnd boast that virtue which on thee alone\nBestowed such honour. Virtue made them mine.\nI can deny thee nothing: he, whose heart\nIs grateful can alone deserve the name\nOf friend, to every treasure far superior.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Go in.\nPHILOCTETES Come with me; for my painful wound\nRequires thy friendly hand to help me onward. (They go into the cave.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nSince proud Ixion, doomed to feel\nThe tortures of th' eternal wheel,\nBound by the hand of angry Jove,\nReceived the due rewards of impious love;\nNe'er was distress so deep or woe so great\nAs on the wretched Philoctetes wait;\nWho ever with the just and good,\nGuiltless of fraud and rapine, stood,\nAnd the fair paths of virtue still pursued;\nAlone on this inhospitable shore,\nWhere waves for ever beat and tempests roar,\nHow could he e'er or hope or comfort know,\nOr painful life support beneath such weight of woe?\n(antistrophe 1)\nExposed to the inclement skies,\nDeserted and forlorn he lies,\nNo friend or fellow-mourner there\nTo soothe his sorrows and divide his care,\nOr seek the healing plant of power to 'suage\nHis aching wound and mitigate its rage;\nBut if perchance, awhile released\nFrom torturing pain, he sinks to rest,\nAwakened soon, and by sharp hunger prest,\nCompelled to wander forth in search of food,\nHe crawls in anguish to the neighbouring wood;\nEven as the tottering infant in despair\nWho mourns an absent mother's kind supporting care.\n(strophe 2)\nThe teeming earth, who mortals still supplies\nWith every good, to him her seed denies;\nA stranger to the joy that flows\nFrom the kind aid which man on man bestows;\nNor food, alas! to him was given,\nSave when his arrows pierced the birds of heaven;\nNor e'er did Bacchus' heart-expanding bow!\nFor ten long years relieve his cheerless soul;\nBut glad was he his eager thirst to slake\nIn the unwholesome pool, or ever-stagnant lake.\n(antistrophe 2)\nBut now, behold the joyful captive freed;\nA fairer fate, and brighter days succeed:\nFor he at last hath found a friend\nOf noblest race, to save and to defend,\nTo guide him with protecting hand,\nAnd safe restore him to his native land;\nOn Spercheius' flowery banks to join the throng\nOf Malian nymphs, and lead the choral song\nOn Oeta's top, which saw Alcides rise,\nAnd from the flaming pile ascend his native skies. (NEOPTOLEMUS and\nPHILOCTETES enter from the cave. PHILOCTETES is suddenly seized with\nspasms of pain. He still holds in his hand the bow and arrows.)\nNEOPTOLEMUS Come, Philoctetes; why thus silent? Wherefore\nThis sudden terror on thee?\nPHILOCTETES Oh!\nNEOPTOLEMUS Whence is it?\nPHILOCTETES Nothing, my son; go on!\nNEOPTOLEMUS Is it thy wound\nThat pains thee thus?\nPHILOCTETES No; I am better now.\nO gods!\nNEOPTOLEMUS Why dost thou call thus on the gods?\nPHILOCTETES To smile propitious, and preserve us- Oh!\nNEOPTOLEMUS Thou art in misery. Tell me- wilt thou not?\nWhat is it?\nPHILOCTETES O my son! I can no longer\nConceal it from thee. Oh! I die, I perish;\nBy the great gods let me implore thee, now\nThis moment, if thou hast a sword. oh! strike,\nCut off this painful limb, and end my being!\nNEOPTOLEMUS What can this mean, that unexpected thus\nIt should torment thee?\nPHILOCTETES Know you not, my son?\nNEOPTOLEMUS What is the cause?\nPHILOCTETES Can you not guess it?\nNEOPTOLEMUS No.\nPHILOCTETES Nor I.\nNEOPTOLEMUS That's stranger still.\nPHILOCTETES My son, my son\nNEOPTOLEMUS This new attack is terrible indeed!\nPHILOCTETES 'Tis inexpressible! Have pity on me!\nNEOPTOLEMUS What shall I do?\nPHILOCTETES Do not be terrified,\nAnd leave me. Its returns are regular,\nAnd like the traveller, when its appetite\nIs satisfied, it will depart. Oh! oh!\nNEOPTOLEMUS Thou art oppressed with ills on every side.\nGive me thy hand. Come, wilt thou lean upon me?\nPHILOCTETES No; but these arrows take; preserve 'em for me.\nA little while, till I grow better. Sleep\nIs coming on me, and my pains will cease.\nLet me be quiet. If meantime our foes\nSurprise thee, let nor force nor artifice\nDeprive thee of the great, the precious trust\nI have reposed in thee; that were ruin\nTo thee, and to thy friend.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Be not afraid-\nNo hands but mine shall touch them; give them to me.\nPHILOCTETES Receive them, son; and let it be thy prayer\nThey bring not woes on thee, as they have done\nTo me and to Alcides. (PHILOCTETES gives him the bow and arrows.)\nNEOPTOLEMUS May the gods\nForbid it ever! May they guide our course\nAnd speed our prosperous sails!\nPHILOCTETES Alas! my son,\nI fear thy vows are vain. Behold my blood\nFlows from the wound? Oh how it pains me! Now\nIt comes, it hastens! Do not, do not leave me!\nOh! that Ulysses felt this racking torture,\nE'en to his inmost soul! Again it comes!\nO Agamemnon! Menelaus! why\nShould not you bear these pangs as I have done?\nO death! where art thou, death? so often called,\nWilt thou not listen? wilt thou never come?\nTake thou the Lemnian fire, my generous friend,\nDo me the same kind office which I did\nFor my Alcides. These are thy reward;\nHe gave them to me. Thou alone deservest\nThe great inheritance. What says my friend?\nWhat says my dear preserver? Oh! where art thou?\nNEOPTOLEMUS I mourn thy hapless fate.\nPHILOCTETES Be of good cheer,\nQuick my disorder comes, and goes as soon;\nI only beg thee not to leave me here.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Depend on 't, I will stay.\nPHILOCTETES Wilt thou indeed?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Trust me, I will.\nPHILOCTETES I need not bind thee to it\nBy oath.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Oh, no! 'twere impious to forsake thee.\nPHILOCTETES Give me thy hand, and pledge thy faith.\nNEOPTOLEMUS I do.\nPHILOCTETES (pointing up to heaven) Thither, oh, thither lead!\nNEOPTOLEMUS What sayst thou? where?\nPHILOCTETES Above-\nNEOPTOLEMUS What, lost again? Why lookst thou thus\nOn that bright circle?\nPHILOCTETES Let me, let me go!\nNEOPTOLEMUS (lays hold of him) Where wouldst thou go?\nPHILOCTETES Loose me.\nNEOPTOLEMUS I will not.\nPHILOCTETES Oh!\nYou'll kill me, if you do not.\nNEOPTOLEMUS (lets him go) There, then; now\nIs thy mind better?\nPHILOCTETES Oh! receive me, earth!\nReceive a dying man. Here must I lie;\nFor, oh! my pain's so great I cannot rise. (PHILOCTETES sinks down\non the earth near the entrance of the cave.)\nNEOPTOLEMUS Sleep hath o'ertaken him. See, his head is lain\nOn the cold earth; the balmy sweat thick drops\nFrom every limb, and from the broken vein\nFlows the warm blood; let us indulge his slumbers.\nCHORUS (singing) Sleep, thou patron of mankind,\nGreat physician of the mind,\nWho dost nor pain nor sorrow know,\nSweetest balm of every woe,\nMildest sovereign, hear us now;\nHear thy wretched suppliant's vow;\nHis eyes in gentle slumbers close,\nAnd continue his repose;\nHear thy wretched suppliant's vow,\nGreat physician, hear us now.\nAnd now, my son, what best may suit thy purpose\nConsider well, and how we are to act.\nWhat more can we expect? The time is come;\nFor better far is opportunity\nSeized at the lucky hour than all the counsels\nWhich wisdom dictates or which craft inspires.\nNEOPTOLEMUS (chanting) He hears us not. But easy as it is\nTo gain the prize, it would avail us nothing\nWere he not with us. Phoebus hath reserved\nFor him alone the crown of victory;\nBut thus to boast of what we could not do,\nAnd break our word, were most disgraceful to us.\nCHORUS (singing) The gods will guide us, fear it not, my son;\nBut what thou sayst speak soft, for well thou knowst\nThe sick man's sleep is short. He may awake\nAnd hear us; therefore let us hide our purpose.\nIf then thou thinkst as he does- thou knowst whom-\nThis is the hour. At such a time, my son,\nThe wisest err. But mark me, the wind's fair,\nAnd Philoctetes sleeps, void of all help-\nLame, impotent, unable to resist,\nHe is as one among the dead. E'en now\nWe'll take him with us. 'Twere an easy task.\nLeave it to me, my son. There is no danger.\nNEOPTOLEMUS No more! His eyes are open. See, he moves.\nPHILOCTETES (awaking) O fair returning light! beyond my hope;\nYou too, my kind preservers! O my son!\nI could not think thou wouldst have stayed so long\nIn kind compassion to thy friend. Alas!\nThe Atreidae never would have acted thus.\nBut noble is thy nature, and thy birth,\nAnd therefore little did my wretchedness,\nNor from my wounds the noisome stench deter\nThy generous heart. I have a little respite;\nHelp me, my son I I'll try to rise; this weakness\nWill leave me soon, and then we'll go together.\nNEOPTOLEMUS I little thought to find thee thus restored.\nTrust me, I joy to see thee free from pain,\nAnd hear thee speak; the marks of death were on thee,\nRaise thyself up; thy friends here, if thou wilt,\nShall carry thee, 'twill be no burthen to them\nIf we request it.\nPHILOCTETES No; thy hand alone;\nI will not trouble them; 'twill be enough\nIf they can bear with me and my distemper\nWhen we embark.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Well, be it so; but rise.\nPHILOCTETES (rising) Oh I never fear; I'll rise as well as ever.\nNEOPTOLEMUS (half to himself) How shall I act?\nPHILOCTETES What says my son?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Alas!\nI know not what to say; my doubtful mind-\nPHILOCTETES Talked you of doubts? You did not surely.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Aye,\nThat's my misfortune.\nPHILOCTETES Is then my distress\nThe cause at last you will not take me with you?\nNEOPTOLEMUS All is distress and misery when we act\nAgainst our nature and consent to ill.\nPHILOCTETES But sure to help a good man in misfortunes\nIs not against thy nature.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Men will call me\nA villain; that distracts me.\nPHILOCTETES Not for this;\nFor what thou meanst to do thou mayst deserve it\nNEOPTOLEMUS What shall I do? Direct me, Jove! To hide\nWhat I should speak, and tell a base untruth\nWere double guilt.\nPHILOCTETES He purposes at last,\nI fear it much, to leave me.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Leave thee! No!\nBut how to make thee go with pleasure hence,\nThere I'm distressed.\nPHILOCTETES I understand thee not;\nWhat means my son?\nNEOPTOLEMUS I can no longer hide\nThe dreadful secret from thee; thou art going\nTo Troy, e'en to the Greeks, to the Atreidae.\nPHILOCTETES Alas! what sayest thou?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Do not weep, but hear me.\nPHILOCTETES What must I hear? what wilt thou do with me?\nNEOPTOLEMUS First set thee free; then carry thee, my friend,\nTo conquer Troy.\nPHILOCTETES Is this indeed thy purpose?\nNEOPTOLEMUS This am I bound to do.\nPHILOCTETES Then am I lost,\nUndone, betrayed. Canst thou, my friend, do this?\nGive me my arms again.\nNEOPTOLEMUS It cannot be.\nI must obey the powers who sent me hither; justice enjoins- the common\ncause demands it,\nPHILOCTETES Thou worst of men, thou vile artificer\nOf fraud most infamous, what hast thou done?\nHow have I been deceived? Dost thou not blush\nTo look upon me, to behold me thus\nBeneath thy feet imploring? Base betrayer!\nTo rob me of my bow, the means of life,\nThe only means- give 'em, restore 'em to me!\nDo not take all Alas Alas! he hears me not,\nNor deigns to speak, but casts an angry look\nThat says I never shall be free again.\nO mountains, rivers, rocks, and savage herds!\nTo you I speak- to you alone I now\nMust breathe my sorrows; you are wont to hear\nMy sad complaints, and I will tell you all\nThat I have suffered from Achilles' son,\nWho, bound by solemn oath to bear me hence\nTo my dear native soil, now sails for Troy.\nThe perjured wretch first gave his plighted hand,\nThen stole the sacred arrows of my friend,\nThe son of Jove, the great Alcides; those\nHe means to show the Greeks, to snatch me hence\nAnd boast his prize, as if poor Philoctetes,\nThis empty shade, were worthy of his arm.\nHad I been what I was, he ne'er had thus\nSubdued me, and e'en now to fraud alone\nHe owes the conquest. I have been betrayed!\nGive me my arms again, and be thyself\nOnce more. Oh, speak! Thou wilt not? Then I'm lost.\nO my poor hut! again I come to thee\nNaked and destitute of food; once more\nReceive me, here to die; for now, no longer\nShall my swift arrow reach the flying prey,\nOr on the mountains pierce the wandering herd:\nI shall myself afford a banquet now\nTo those I used to feed on- they the hunters,\nAnd I their easy prey; so shall the blood\nWhich I so oft have shed be paid by mine;\nAnd all this too from him whom once I deemed\nStranger to fraud nor capable of ill;\nAnd yet I will not curse thee till I know\nWhether thou still retainst thy horrid purpose,\nOr dost repent thee of it; if thou dost not,\nDestruction wait thee!\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS We attend your pleasure,\nMy royal lord, we must be gone; determine\nTo leave, or take him with us.\nNEOPTOLEMUS His distress\nDoth move me much. Trust me, I long have felt\nCompassion for him.\nPHILOCTETES Oh then by the gods\nPity me now, my son, nor let mankind\nReproach thee for a fraud so base.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Alas!\nWhat shall I do? Would I were still at Scyros!\nFor I am most unhappy.\nPHILOCTETES O my son!\nThou art not base by nature, but misguided\nBy those who are, to deeds unworthy of thee.\nTurn then thy fraud on them who best deserve it;\nRestore my arms, and leave me.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Speak, my friends,\nWhat's to be done? (ULYSSES enters suddenly.)\nULYSSES Ah! dost thou hesitate?\nTraitor, be gone! Give me the arms.\nPHILOCTETES Ah me!\nUlysses here?\nULYSSES Aye! 'tis Ulysses' self\nThat stands before thee.\nPHILOCTETES Then I'm lost, betrayed!\nThis was the cruel spoiler.\nULYSSES Doubt it not.\n'Twas I; I do confess it.\nPHILOCTETES (to NEOPTOLEMUS) O my son!\nGive me them back.\nULYSSES It must not be; with them\nThyself must go, or we shall drag thee hence.\nPHILOCTETES And will they force me? O thou daring villain!\nULYSSES They will, unless thou dost consent to go.\nPHILOCTETES Wilt thou, O Lemnos! wilt thou, mighty Vulcan!\nWith thy all-conquering fire, permit me thus\nTo be torn from thee?\nULYSSES Know, great Jove himself\nDoth here preside. He hath decreed thy fate;\nI but perform his will.\nPHILOCTETES Detested wretch,\nMak'st thou the gods a cover for thy crime?\nDo they teach falsehood?\nULYSSES No, they taught me truth,\nAnd therefore, hence- that way thy journey lies. (Pointing to the\nsea)\nPHILOCTETES It doth not.\nULYSSES But I say it must be so.\nPHILOCTETES And Philoctetes then was born a slave!\nI did not know it,\nULYSSES No; I mean to place thee\nE'en with the noblest, e'en with those by whom\nProud Troy must perish.\nPHILOCTETES Never will I go,\nBefall what may, whilst this deep cave is open\nTo bury all my sorrows.\nULYSSES What wouldst do?\nPHILOCTETES Here throw me down, dash out my desperate brains\nAgainst this rock, and sprinkle it with my blood.\nULYSSES (to the CHORUS) Seize, and prevent him! (They seize him.)\nPHILOCTETES Manacled! O hands!\nHow helpless are you now! those arms, which once\nProtected, thus torn from you! (To ULYSSES) Thou abandoned,\nThou shameless wretch! from whom nor truth nor justice,\nNaught that becomes the generous mind, can flow,\nHow hast thou used me! how betrayed! Suborned\nThis stranger, this poor youth, who, worthier far\nTo be my friend than thine, was only here\nThy instrument; he knew not what he did,\nAnd now, thou seest, repents him of the crime\nWhich brought such guilt on him, such woes on me.\nBut thy foul soul, which from its dark recess\nTrembling looks forth, beheld him void of art,\nUnwilling as he was, instructed him,\nAnd made him soon a master in deceit.\nI am thy prisoner now; e'en now thou meanst\nTo drag me hence, from this unhappy shore,\nWhere first thy malice left me, a poor exile,\nDeserted, friendless, and though living, dead\nTo all mankind. Perish the vile betrayer!\nOh! I have cursed thee often, but the gods\nWill never bear the prayers of Philoctetes.\nLife and its joys are thine, whilst I, unhappy,\nAm but the scorn of thee, and the Atreidae,\nThy haughty masters. Fraud and force compelled thee,\nOr thou hadst never sailed with them to Troy.\nI lent my willing aid; with seven brave ships\nI ploughed the main to serve them. In return\nThey cast me forth, disgraced me, left me here.\nThou sayst they did it; they impute the crime\nTo thee. And what will you do with me now?\nAnd whither must I go? What end, what purpose\nCould urge thee to it? I am nothing, lost\nAnd dead already. Wherefore- tell me, wherefore?-\nAm I not still the same detested burthen,\nLoathsome and lame? Again must Philoctetes\nDisturb your holy rites? If I am with you\nHow can you make libations? That was once\nYour vile pretence for inhumanity.\nOh! may you perish for the deed! The gods\nWill grant it sure, if justice be their care\nAnd that it is I know. You had not left\nYour native soil to seek a wretch like me\nHad not some impulse from the powers above,\nSpite of yourselves, ordained it. O my country!\nAnd you, O gods! who look upon this deed,\nPunish, in pity to me, punish all\nThe guilty band! Could I behold them perish,\nMy wounds were nothing; that would heal them all.\nLEADER (to ULYSSES) Observe, my lord, what bitterness of soul\nHis words express; he bends not to misfortune,\nBut seems to brave it.\nULYSSES I could answer him,\nWere this a time for words; but now, no more\nThan this- I act as best befits our purpose.\nWhere virtue, truth, and justice are required\nUlysses yields to none; I was not born\nTo be o'ercome, and yet submit to thee.\nLet him remain. Thy arrows shall suffice;\nWe want thee not! Teucer can draw thy bow\nAs well as thou; myself with equal strength\nCan aim the deadly shaft, with equal skill.\nWhat could thy presence do? Let Lemnos keep thee.\nFarewell! perhaps the honours once designed\nFor thee may be reserved to grace Ulysses.\nPHILOCTETES Alas! shall Greece then see my deadliest foe\nAdorned with arms which I alone should bear?\nULYSSES No more! I must be gone.\nPHILOCTETES (to NEOPTOLEMUS) Son of Achilles,\nThou wilt not leave me too? I must not lose\nThy converse, thy assistance.\nULYSSES (to NEOPTOLEMUS) Look not on him;\nAway, I charge thee! 'Twould be fatal to us.\nPHILOCTETES (to the CHORUS) Will you forsake me, friends? Dwells\nno compassion\nWithin your breasts for me?\nLEADER (pointing to NEOPTOLEMUS) He is our master;\nWe speak and act but as his will directs.\nNEOPTOLEMUS I know be will upbraid me for this weakness,\nBut 'tis my nature, and I must consent,\nSince Philoctetes asks it. Stay you with him,\nTill to the gods our pious prayers we offer,\nAnd all things are prepared for our departure;\nPerhaps, meantime, to better thoughts his mind\nMay turn relenting. We must go. Remember,\nWhen we shall call you, follow instantly. (NEOPTOLEMUS, still with\nthe bow in his hands, goes out with ULYSSES. The lines in the following\nscene between PHILOCTETES and the CHORUS are chanted responsively.)\nPHILOCTETES O my poor hut! and is it then decreed\nAgain I come to thee to part no more,\nTo end my wretched days in this sad cave,\nThe scene of all my woes? For whither now\nCan I betake me? Who will feed, support,\nOr cherish Philoctetes? Not a hope\nRemains for me. Oh! that th' impetuous storms\nWould bear me with them to some distant clime!\nFor I must perish here.\nCHORUS Unhappy man!\nThou hast provoked thy fate; thyself alone\nArt to thyself a foe, to scorn the good,\nWhich wisdom bids thee take, and choose misfortune.\nPHILOCTETES Wretch that I am, to perish here alone!\nOh! I shall see the face of man no more,\nNor shall my arrows pierce their winged prey,\nAnd bring me sustenance! Such vile delusions\nUsed to betray me! Oh! that pains like those\nI feel might reach the author of my woes!\nCHORUS The gods decreed it; we are not to blame.\nHeap not thy curses therefore on the guiltless,\nBut take our friendship.\nPHILOCTETES (pointing to the sea-shore) I behold him there;\nE'en now I see him laughing me to scorn\nOn yonder shore, and in his hands the darts\nHe waves triumphant, which no arms but these\nHad ever borne. O my dear glorious treasure!\nHadst thou a mind to feel th' indignity,\nHow wouldst thou grieve to change thy noble master,\nThe friend of great Alcides, for a wretch\nSo vile, so base, so impious as Ulysses!\nCHORUS justice will ever rule the good man's tongue,\nNor from his lips reproach and bitterness\nInvidious flow. Ulysses, by the voice\nOf Greece appointed, only sought a friend\nTo join the common cause, and serve his country.\nPHILOCTETES Hear me, ye winged inhabitants of air,\nAnd you, who on these mountains love to feed,\nMy savage prey, whom once I could pursue;\nFearful no more of Philoctetes, fly\nThis hollow rock- I cannot hurt you now;\nYou need not dread to enter here. Alas!\nYou now may come, and in your turn regale\nOn these poor limbs, when I shall be no more.\nWhere can I hope for food? or who can breathe\nThis vital air, when life-preserving earth\nNo longer will assist him?\nCHORUS By the gods!\nLet me entreat thee, if thou dost regard\nOur master, and thy friend, come to him now,\nWhilst thou mayst 'scape this sad calamity;\nWho but thyself would choose to be unhappy\nThat could prevent it?\nPHILOCTETES Oh! you have brought back\nOnce more the sad remembrance of my griefs;\nWhy, why, my friends, would you afflict me thus?\nCHORUS Afflict thee- how?\nPHILOCTETES Think you I'll e'er return\nTo hateful Troy?\nCHORUS We would advise thee to it.\nPHILOCTETES I'll hear no more. Go, leave me!\nCHORUS That we shall\nMost gladly. To the ships, my friends; away! (Going) Obey your\norders.\nPHILOCTETES (stops them) By protecting Jove,\nWho hears the suppliant's prayer, do not forsake me!\nCHORUS (returning) Be calm then.\nPHILOCTETES O my friends! will you then stay?\nDo, by the gods I beg you.\nCHORUS Why that groan?\nPHILOCTETES Alas! I die. My wound, my wound! Hereafter\nWhat can I do? You will not leave me! Hear-\nCHORUS What canst thou say we do not know already?\nPHILOCTETES O'erwhelmed by such a storm of griefs as I am,\nYou should not thus resent a madman's frenzy.\nCHORUS Comply then and be happy.\nPHILOCTETES Never, never!\nBe sure of that. Tho' thunder-bearing Jove\nShould with his lightnings blast me, would I go?\nNo! Let Troy perish, perish all the host\nWho sent me here to die; but, O my friends!\nGrant me this last request.\nCHORUS What is it? Speak.\nPHILOCTETES A sword, a dart, some instrument of death.\nCHORUS What wouldst thou do?\nPHILOCTETES I'd hack off every limb.\nDeath, my soul longs for death.\nCHORUS But wherefore is it?\nPHILOCTETES I'll seek my father.\nCHORUS Whither?\nPHILOCTETES In the tomb;\nThere he must be. O Scyros! O my country!\nHow could I bear to see thee as I am-\nI who had left thy sacred shores to aid\nThe hateful sons of Greece? O misery! (He goes into the cave.)\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS (speaking) Ere now we should have taken thee\nto our ships,\nBut that advancing this way I behold\nUlysses, and with him Achilles' son. (NEOPTOLEMUS enters still carrying\nthe bow; he is followed closely by ULYSSES.)\nULYSSES Why this return? Wherefore this haste?\nNEOPTOLEMUS I come\nTo purge me of my crimes.\nULYSSES Indeed! What crimes?\nNEOPTOLEMUS My blind obedience to the Grecian host\nAnd to thy counsels.\nULYSSES Hast thou practised aught\nBase or unworthy of thee?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Yes; by art\nAnd vile deceit betrayed th' unhappy.\nULYSSES Whom?\nAlas! what mean you?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Nothing. But the son\nOf Poeas-\nULYSSES Ha! what wouldst thou do? My heart\nMisgives me.\nNEOPTOLEMUS I have ta'en his arms, and now-\nULYSSES Thou wouldst restore them! Speak! Is that thy purpose?\nAlmighty Jove!\nNEOPTOLEMUS Unjustly should I keep\nAnother's right?\nULYSSES Now, by the gods, thou meanest\nTo mock me! Dost thou not?\nNEOPTOLEMUS If to speak truth\nBe mockery.\nULYSSES And does Achilles' son\nSay this to me?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Why force me to repeat\nMy words so often to thee?\nULYSSES Once to hear them\nIs once indeed too much.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Doubt then no more,\nFor I have told thee all.\nULYSSES There are, remember,\nThere are who may prevent thee.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Who shall dare\nTo thwart my purpose?\nULYSSES All the Grecian host,\nAnd with them, I.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Wise as thou art, Ulysses,\nThou talkst most idly.\nULYSSES Wisdom is not thine\nEither in word or deed.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Know, to be just\nIs better far than to be wise.\nULYSSES But where,\nWhere is the justice, thus unauthorized,\nTo give a treasure back thou ow'st to me,\nAnd to my counsels?\nNEOPTOLEMUS I have done a wrong,\nAnd I will try to make atonement for it.\nULYSSES Dost thou not fear the power of Greece?\nNEOPTOLEMUS I fear\nNor Greece nor thee, when I am doing right.\nULYSSES 'Tis not with Troy then we contend. but thee-\nNEOPTOLEMUS I know not that.\nULYSSES Seest thou this hand? behold,\nIt grasps my sword.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Mine is alike prepared,\nNor seeks delay.\nULYSSES But I will let thee go;\nGreece shall know all thy guilt, and shall revenge it. (ULYSSES departs.)\nNEOPTOLEMUS 'Twas well determined; always be as wise\nAs now thou art, and thou mayst live in safety. (He approaches the\ncave and calls.) Ho! son of Poeas! Philoctetes, leave\nThy rocky habitation, and come forth.\nPHILOCTETES (from the cave) What noise was that? Who calls on Philoctetes?\n(He comes out.) Alas! what would you, strangers? Are you come\nTo heap fresh miseries on me?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Be of comfort,\nAnd bear the tidings which I bring.\nPHILOCTETES I dare not;\nThy flattering tongue hath betrayed me.\nNEOPTOLEMUS And is there then no room for penitence?\nPHILOCTETES Such were thy words, when, seemingly sincere,\nYet meaning ill, thou stolst my arms away.\nNEOPTOLEMUS But now it is not so. I only came\nTo know if thou art resolute to stay,\nOr sail with us.\nPHILOCTETES No more of that; 'tis vain\nAnd useless all.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Art thou then fixed?\nPHILOCTETES I am;\nIt is impossible to say how firmly.\nNEOPTOLEMUS I thought I could have moved thee, but I've done.\nPHILOCTETES 'Tis well thou hast; thy labour had been vain;\nFor never could my soul esteem the man\nWho robbed me of my dearest, best possession,\nAnd now would have me listen to his counsels-\nUnworthy offspring of the best of men!\nPerish th' Atreidae! perish first Ulysses!\nPerish thyself!\nNEOPTOLEMUS Withhold thy imprecations,\nAnd take thy arrows back.\nPHILOCTETES A second time\nWouldst thou deceive me?\nNEOPTOLEMUS By th' almighty power\nOf sacred Jove I swear.\nPHILOCTETES O joyful sound!\nIf thou sayst truly.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Let my actions speak.\nStretch forth thy hand, and take thy arms again. (As NEOPTOLEMUS\ngives the bow and arrows to PHILOCTETES, ULYSSES suddenly enters.)\nULYSSES Witness ye gods! Here, in the name of Greece\nAnd the Atreidae, I forbid it.\nPHILOCTETES Ha!\nWhat voice is that? Ulysses'?\nULYSSES Aye, 'tis I-\nI who perforce will carry thee to Troy\nSpite of Achilles' son.\nPHILOCTETES (He aims an arrow directly at ULYSSES.) Not if I aim\nThis shaft aright.\nNEOPTOLEMUS (laying hold of him) Now, by the gods, I beg thee\nStop thy rash hand!\nPHILOCTETES Let go my arm.\nNEOPTOLEMUS I will not.\nPHILOCTETES Shall I not slay my enemy?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Oh, no!\n'Twould cast dishonour on us both. (ULYSSES hastily departs.)\nPHILOCTETES Thou knowst,\nThese Grecian chiefs are loud pretending boasters,\nBrave but in tongue, and cowards in the field.\nNEOPTOLEMUS I know it; but remember, I restored\nThy arrows to thee, and thou hast no cause\nFor rage or for complaint against thy friend.\nPHILOCTETES I own thy goodness. Thou hast shown thyself\nWorthy thy birth; no son of Sisyphus,\nBut of Achilles, who on earth preserved\nA fame unspotted, and amongst the dead\nStill shines superior, an illustrious shade.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Joyful I thank thee for a father's praise,\nAnd for my own; but listen to my words,\nAnd mark me well. Misfortunes, which the gods\nInflict on mortals, they perforce must bear:\nBut when, oppressed by voluntary woes,\nThey make themselves unhappy, they deserve not\nOur pity or our pardon. Such art thou.\nThy savage soul, impatient of advice,\nRejects the wholesome counsel of thy friend,\nAnd treats him like a foe; but I will speak,\nJove be my witness! Therefore hear my words,\nAnd grave them in thy heart. The dire disease\nThou long hast suffered is from angry heaven,\nWhich thus afflicts thee for thy rash approach\nTo the fell serpent, which on Chrysa's shore\nWatched o'er the sacred treasures. Know beside,\nThat whilst the sun in yonder east shall rise,\nOr in the west decline, distempered still\nThou ever shalt remain, unless to Troy\nThy willing mind transport thee. There the sons\nOf Aesculapius shall restore thee- there\nBy my assistance shalt thou conquer Troy.\nI know it well; for that prophetic sage,\nThe Trojan captive Helenus, foretold\nIt should be so. \"Proud Troy (he added then)\nThis very year must fall; if not, my life\nShall answer for the falsehood.\" Therefore yield.\nThus to be deemed the first of Grecians, thus\nBy Poeas' favourite sons to be restored,\nAnd thus marked out the conqueror of Troy,\nIs sure distinguished happiness.\nPHILOCTETES O life!\nDetested, why wilt thou still keep me here?\nWhy not dismiss me to the tomb! Alas!\nWhat can I do? How can I disbelieve\nMy generous friend? I must consent, and yet\nCan I do this, and look upon the sun?\nCan I behold my friends- will they forgive,\nWill they associate with me after this?\nAnd you, ye heavenly orbs that roll around me,\nHow will ye bear to see me linked with those\nWho have destroyed me, e'en the sons of Atreus,\nE'en with Ulysses, source of all my woes?\nMy sufferings past I could forget; but oh!\nI dread the woes to come; for well I know\nWhen once the mind's corrupted it brings forth\nUnnumbered crimes, and ills to ills succeed.\nIt moves my wonder much that thou, my friend,\nShouldst thus advise me, whom it ill becomes\nTo think of Troy. I rather had believed\nThou wouldst have sent me far, far off from those\nWho have defrauded thee of thy just right,\nAnd gave thy arms away. Are these the men\nWhom thou wouldst serve? whom thou wouldst thus compel me\nTo save and to defend? It must not be.\nRemember, O my son! the solemn oath\nThou gav'st to bear me to my native soil.\nDo this, my friend, remain thyself at Scyros,\nAnd leave these wretches to be wretched still.\nThus shalt thou merit double thanks, from me\nAnd from thy father; nor by succour given\nTo vile betrayers prove thyself as vile.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Thou sayst most truly. Yet confide in heaven,\nTrust to thy friend, and leave this hated place.\nPHILOCTETES Leave it! For whom? For Troy and the Atreidae?\nThese wounds forbid it.\nNEOPTOLEMUS They shall all be healed,\nWhere I will carry thee.\nPHILOCTETES An idle tale\nThou tellst me. surely; dost thou not?\nNEOPTOLEMUS I speak\nWhat best may serve us both.\nPHILOCTETES But, speaking thus,\nDost thou not fear the' offended gods?\nNEOPTOLEMUS Why fear them?\nCan I offend the gods by doing good?\nPHILOCTETES What good? To whom? To me or to the' Atreidae?\nNEOPTOLEMUS I am thy friend, and therefore would persuade thee.\nPHILOCTETES And therefore give me to my foes.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Alas!\nLet not misfortunes thus transport thy soul\nTo rage and bitterness.\nPHILOCTETES Thou wouldst destroy me.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Thou knowst me not.\nPHILOCTETES I know th' Atreidae well,\nWho left me here.\nNEOPTOLEMUS They did; yet they perhaps,\nE'en they, O Philoctetes! may preserve thee.\nPHILOCTETES I never will to Troy.\nNEOPTOLEMUS What's to be done?\nSince I can ne'er persuade thee, I submit;\nLive on in misery.\nPHILOCTETES Then let me suffer;\nSuffer I must; but, oh! perform thy promise;\nThink on thy plighted faith, and guard me home\nInstant, my friend, nor ever call back Troy\nTo my remembrance; I have felt enough\nFrom Troy already.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Let us go; prepare!\nPHILOCTETES O glorious sound!\nNEOPTOLEMUS Bear thyself up.\nPHILOCTETES I will,\nIf possible.\nNEOPTOLEMUS But how shall I escape\nThe wrath of Greece?\nPHILOCTETES Oh! think not of it.\nNEOPTOLEMUS What\nIf they should waste my kingdom?\nPHILOCTETES I'll be there.\nNEOPTOLEMUS Alas! what canst thou do?\nPHILOCTETES And with these arrows\nOf my Alcides-\nNEOPTOLEMUS Ha! What sayst thou?\nPHILOCTETES Drive\nThy foes before me. Not a Greek shall dare\nApproach thy borders.\nNEOPTOLEMUS If thou wilt do this,\nSalute the earth, and instant hence. Away! (HERCULES appears from\nabove, and speaks as he moves forward.)\nHERCULES Stay, son of Poeas! Lo to thee 'tis given\nOnce more to see and hear thy loved Alcides,\nWho for thy sake hath left yon heavenly mansions,\nAnd comes to tell thee the decrees of Jove;\nTo turn thee from the paths thou meanst to tread,\nAnd guide thy footsteps right. Therefore attend.\nThou knowst what toils, what labours I endured,\nEre I by virtue gained immortal fame;\nThou too like me by toils must rise to glory-\nThou too must suffer, ere thou canst be happy;\nHence with thy friend to Troy, where honour calls,\nWhere health awaits thee- where, by virtue raised\nTo highest rank, and leader of the war,\nParis, its hateful author, shalt thou slay,\nLay waste proud Troy, and send thy trophies home,\nThy valour's due reward, to glad thy sire\nOn Oeta's top. The gifts which Greece bestows\nMust thou reserve to grace my funeral pile,\nAnd be a monument to after-ages\nOf these all-conquering arms. Son of Achilles (Turning to NEOPTOLEMUS, For now to thee I speak,) remember this,\nWithout his aid thou canst not conquer Troy,\nNor Philoctetes without thee succeed;\nGo then, and, like two lions in the field\nRoaming for prey, guard ye each other well;\nMy Aesculapius will I send e'en now\nTo heal thy wounds-Then go, and conquer Troy;\nBut when you lay the vanquished city waste.\nBe careful that you venerate the gods;\nFor far above all other gifts doth Jove,\nTh' almighty father, hold true piety:\nWhether we live or die, that still survives\nBeyond the reach of fate, and is immortal.\nPHILOCTETES (chanting) Once more to let me hear that wished-for\nvoice,\nTo see thee after so long time, was bliss\nI could not hope for. Oh! I will obey\nThy great commands most willingly.\nNEOPTOLEMUS (chanting) And I.\nHERCULES (chanting) Delay not then. For lo! a prosperous wind\nSwells in thy sail. The time invites. Adieu! (HERCULES disappears\nabove.)\nPHILOCTETES (chanting) I will but pay my salutations here,\nAnd instantly depart. To thee, my cave,\nWhere I so long have dwelt, I bid farewell!\nAnd you, ye nymphs, who on the watery plains\nDeign to reside, farewell! Farewell the noise\nOf beating waves, which I so oft have heard\nFrom the rough sea, which by the black winds driven\nO'erwhelmed me, shivering. Oft th' Hermaean mount\nEchoed my plaintive voice, by wintry storms\nAfflicted, and returned me groan for groan.\nNow, ye fresh fountains, each Lycaean spring,\nI leave you now. Alas! I little thought\nTo leave you ever. And thou sea-girt isle,\nLemnos, farewell! Permit me to depart\nBy thee unblamed, and with a prosperous gale\nTo go where fate demands, where kindest friends\nBy counsel urge me, where all-powerful Jove\nIn his unerring wisdom hath decreed.\nCHORUS (chanting) Let us be gone, and to the ocean nymphs\nOur humble prayers prefer, that they would all\nPropitious smile, and grant us safe return.\nTHE END","title":"Philoctetes","type":"page"}