 | The Philoctetes of Sophocles |  |
15
SCENE II.
Phil.Strangers, ye seem to bear the Marks of Sorrow,
And I perceive your Sentiments and mine
Concerning the Atridæ, and Ulysses,
Are both the same: As for his Part, I know
His artful, false, disguis'd, deluding Tongue,
To Truth and Justice is a perfect Stranger:
At which I wonder not, but much admire
How braver Ajax cou'd allow such Wrongs.
Neop.
Ajax, my Friend, is dead, or had he Life,
I shou'd not thus be made a shameful Prey.
Phil.
And is the great, the valiant Ajax dead?
Neop.
He now no longer breathes in Heav'ns fair Light.
Phil.
Wretched am I—There's Diomede alive
And curs'd Ulysses, sprung from Sisyphus,
And both unworthy of the Breath they draw.
Neop.
Both live and flourish, both in Pomp appear,
Peculiar Fav'rites of the Grecian Host.
Phil.
Where is my good, my old, my faithful Friend,
Nestor of Pylos? for he well foresaw
Their dark Designs, their base, their treach'rous Deeds.
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Loaded with Woes, his only Son is dead,
Antilochus; the Comfort of his Age.
Phil.
Two dismal Evils you have told, I hear
Them both with much Affliction; O my Heart!
What shall I think? The brave are dead and gone;
Ulysses lives! who well deserv'd to die.
Neop.
He wisely fights; but even the wise sometimes
Perceive their deepest Counsels overthrown.
Phil.
Tell me, I pray thee by the Gods, where was
Thy Father's dearest Friend Patroclus then.
Neop.
Slain with the rest. Observe this one Remark,
Mars ever singles out the brave to die;
Cowards are safe; he scorns their panting Breast.
Phil.
I grant it's true; and for this Cause I shall
Enquiry make for one unworthy Wretch,
Whose Tongue had Words and Cunning at command,
In what Condition's he?—
Neop.
—Ulysses sure
You mean; this Character suits none but him.
Phil.
No. One Thersites clamorous and loud,
In spight of Opposition; does he live?
Neop.
I saw him not, but heard he was alive.
Phil.
'Tis like, because no Evil yet is dead.
The Gods to me seem Guardians to the base,
And take a Pleasure to preserve from Death
The false and fraudulent: the just and good
They snatch away from hence. What shall we think
Of this? or how give Praise to them? who shew
So much Regard to wicked Men their Fav'rites.
Neop.
As for myself, I'll freely speak my Thoughts,
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Remote from Troy, and the Atridæ both;
Where wicked Men with Pow'r oppress the Good,
Where Virtue is destroy'd, and Vice commands.
As for my self, I cannot love such Men;
And rocky Scyros shall hereafter be
My best Content.—There shall I joy to live.
Now to my Ship I go, dear Son of Pæan,
Farewel; with all my Soul farewel; and may
The Gods remove thy Pain ev'n as thou wilt;
For go we must, whenever Heav'n is pleas'd
To send a fair and favourable Wind.
Phil.
And do ye now prepare?—
Neop.
—No Time we lose;
The moment that the Winds invite, we go.
Phil.
O! for thy Father's, and thy Mother's sake,
For all that can be dear to thee at home,
I beg, beseech, and pray you not to leave
A poor, forsaken, solitary Man,
In all the dire Calamities you see;
And such as I already have related;
But place me any where, in any manner.
I know a wretched Burthen that I am,
However bear me to the generous Soul;
What's base is hateful; Goodness is his Glory.
If I be left behind, it brings Disgrace;
But if you take me off, it brings you Honour.
If I shall get alive to Oeta's Land,
'Tis but the trouble of one single Day;
Then dare to take me, throw me where you please;
Or by the Pump, or Stern, or Prow, my Friend,
Or any part, where I shall give no Pain.
By Jove, who over suppliant Men presides,
I beg you to consent, my Son; I fall
Down prostrate, and in Tears embrace your Knees;
A poor, lame, helpless, miserable Man.
Ah! leave me not alone, where not a Print
Of human Foot is seen; but save me hence;
Whether you take me to your native home,
Or land me on Eubea's Coast; from thence
To Oeta I've not far to go; not far
To the Trachinian Hills, where Spercheus winds
It's lovely Stream; there let my Father see me.
Tho' long since much I fear he's dead; for oft
By many Passengers I sent, to beg
He'd send a Ship to take me safely home;
But he is either dead, or they perhaps
Slighted my Message; or they pass'd him by.
For all that can be dear to thee at home,
I beg, beseech, and pray you not to leave
A poor, forsaken, solitary Man,
In all the dire Calamities you see;
And such as I already have related;
But place me any where, in any manner.
I know a wretched Burthen that I am,
However bear me to the generous Soul;
What's base is hateful; Goodness is his Glory.
If I be left behind, it brings Disgrace;
But if you take me off, it brings you Honour.
If I shall get alive to Oeta's Land,
'Tis but the trouble of one single Day;
Then dare to take me, throw me where you please;
Or by the Pump, or Stern, or Prow, my Friend,
Or any part, where I shall give no Pain.
By Jove, who over suppliant Men presides,
I beg you to consent, my Son; I fall
Down prostrate, and in Tears embrace your Knees;
A poor, lame, helpless, miserable Man.
Ah! leave me not alone, where not a Print
Of human Foot is seen; but save me hence;
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Or land me on Eubea's Coast; from thence
To Oeta I've not far to go; not far
To the Trachinian Hills, where Spercheus winds
It's lovely Stream; there let my Father see me.
Tho' long since much I fear he's dead; for oft
By many Passengers I sent, to beg
He'd send a Ship to take me safely home;
But he is either dead, or they perhaps
Slighted my Message; or they pass'd him by.
Now is my last Resort, be thou at once
Conductor both and Messenger; O save,
And have Compassion, and consider well
How frail are human Things; how much expos'd
To Change! This day the happy Man may be
Cast down from all his Joy; then he who stands
Without the Storm, shou'd cast a tender Eye
On the poor shipwreck'd Man, and bring Relief;
'Tis in the midst of Happiness we shou'd
Live on our Guard, for fear of a Surprize.
Conductor both and Messenger; O save,
And have Compassion, and consider well
How frail are human Things; how much expos'd
To Change! This day the happy Man may be
Cast down from all his Joy; then he who stands
Without the Storm, shou'd cast a tender Eye
On the poor shipwreck'd Man, and bring Relief;
'Tis in the midst of Happiness we shou'd
Live on our Guard, for fear of a Surprize.
Chorus.
O Prince, for once be kind,
Let him Compassion find.
He told you all his dreadful Woes,
Which Heaven avert from any Friend of mine.
Then let the Joy be thine,
To make th'Atridæ know
He shall obtain
Release from Pain,
And ev'ry haughty Foe.
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Make haste to catch the flying Gales,
And waft him o'er
Unto his native Shore,
Lest Heav'n pursues you if my Counsel fails.
An experienc'd General and Orator, Son of Neleus; So excellent in Wisdom, that Agamemnon said, if he had ten such in his Army, Troy would soon be conquer'd.
Son of Menætius. When he was young having kill'd one of his Playfellows by accident, was forc'd to fly his Country, and go to Pthia in Thessaly, where he was receiv'd by Tydeus, and bred up with his Son Achilles under Chiron: This made him and Achilles such inseparable Companions and Friends.
| The Philoctetes of Sophocles | |