NEOPTOLEMUS
What can this mean, that unexpected thus
It should torment thee?
PHILOCTETES
Know you not, my son?
NEOPTOLEMUS
What is the cause?
PHILOCTETES
Can you not guess it?
NEOPTOLEMUS
No.
PHILOCTETES
Nor I.
NEOPTOLEMUS
That's stranger still.
PHILOCTETES
My son, my son
NEOPTOLEMUS
This new attack is terrible indeed!
PHILOCTETES
'Tis inexpressible! Have pity on me!
NEOPTOLEMUS
What shall I do?
PHILOCTETES
Do not be terrified,
And leave me. Its returns are regular,
And like the traveller, when its appetite
Is satisfied, it will depart. Oh! oh!
NEOPTOLEMUS
Thou art oppressed with ills on every side.
Give me thy hand. Come, wilt thou lean upon me?
PHILOCTETES
No; but these arrows take; preserve 'em for me.
A little while, till I grow better. Sleep
Is coming on me, and my pains will cease.
Let me be quiet. If meantime our foes
Surprise thee, let nor force nor artifice
Deprive thee of the great, the precious trust
I have reposed in thee; that were ruin
To thee, and to thy friend.
NEOPTOLEMUS
Be not afraid-
No hands but mine shall touch them; give them to me.
PHILOCTETES
Receive them, son; and let it be thy prayer
They bring not woes on thee, as they have done
To me and to Alcides.
(PHILOCTETES gives him the bow and arrows.)
NEOPTOLEMUS
May the gods
Forbid it ever! May they guide our course
And speed our prosperous sails!
PHILOCTETES
Alas! my son,
I fear thy vows are vain. Behold my blood
Flows from the wound? Oh how it pains me! Now
It comes, it hastens! Do not, do not leave me!
Oh! that Ulysses felt this racking torture,
E'en to his inmost soul! Again it comes!
O Agamemnon! Menelaus! why
Should not you bear these pangs as I have done?
O death! where art thou, death? so often called,
Wilt thou not listen? wilt thou never come?
Take thou the Lemnian fire, my generous friend,
Do me the same kind office which I did
For my Alcides. These are thy reward;
He gave them to me. Thou alone deservest
The great inheritance. What says my friend?
What says my dear preserver? Oh! where art thou?
NEOPTOLEMUS
I mourn thy hapless fate.
PHILOCTETES
Be of good cheer,
Quick my disorder comes, and goes as soon;
I only beg thee not to leave me here.
NEOPTOLEMUS
Depend on 't, I will stay.
PHILOCTETES
Wilt thou indeed?
NEOPTOLEMUS
Trust me, I will.
PHILOCTETES
I need not bind thee to it
By oath.
NEOPTOLEMUS
Oh, no! 'twere impious to forsake thee.
PHILOCTETES
Give me thy hand, and pledge thy faith.
NEOPTOLEMUS
I do.
PHILOCTETES (pointing up to heaven)
Thither, oh, thither lead!
NEOPTOLEMUS
What sayst thou? where?
PHILOCTETES
Above-
NEOPTOLEMUS
What, lost again? Why lookst thou thus
On that bright circle?
PHILOCTETES
Let me, let me go!
NEOPTOLEMUS (lays hold of him)
Where wouldst thou go?
PHILOCTETES
Loose me.
NEOPTOLEMUS
I will not.
PHILOCTETES
Oh!
You'll kill me, if you do not.
NEOPTOLEMUS (lets him go)
There, then; now
Is thy mind better?
PHILOCTETES
Oh! receive me, earth!
Receive a dying man. Here must I lie;
For, oh! my pain's so great I cannot rise.
(PHILOCTETES sinks down on the earth
near the entrance of the cave.)
NEOPTOLEMUS
Sleep hath o'ertaken him. See, his head is lain
On the cold earth; the balmy sweat thick drops
From every limb, and from the broken vein
Flows the warm blood; let us indulge his slumbers.
CHORUS (singing)
Sleep, thou patron of mankind,
Great physician of the mind,
Who dost nor pain nor sorrow know,
Sweetest balm of every woe,
Mildest sovereign, hear us now;
Hear thy wretched suppliant's vow;
His eyes in gentle slumbers close,
And continue his repose;
Hear thy wretched suppliant's vow,
Great physician, hear us now.
And now, my son, what best may suit thy purpose
Consider well, and how we are to act.
What more can we expect? The time is come;
For better far is opportunity
Seized at the lucky hour than all the counsels
Which wisdom dictates or which craft inspires.
NEOPTOLEMUS (chanting)
He hears us not. But easy as it is
To gain the prize, it would avail us nothing
Were he not with us. Phoebus hath reserved
For him alone the crown of victory;
But thus to boast of what we could not do,
And break our word, were most disgraceful to us.
CHORUS (singing)
The gods will guide us, fear it not, my son;
But what thou sayst speak soft, for well thou knowst
The sick man's sleep is short. He may awake
And hear us; therefore let us hide our purpose.
If then thou thinkst as he does- thou knowst whom-
This is the hour. At such a time, my son,
The wisest err. But mark me, the wind's fair,
And Philoctetes sleeps, void of all help-
Lame, impotent, unable to resist,
He is as one among the dead. E'en now
We'll take him with us. 'Twere an easy task.
Leave it to me, my son. There is no danger.
NEOPTOLEMUS
No more! His eyes are open. See, he moves.
PHILOCTETES (awaking)
O fair returning light! beyond my hope;
You too, my kind preservers! O my son!
I could not think thou wouldst have stayed so long
In kind compassion to thy friend. Alas!
The Atreidae never would have acted thus.
But noble is thy nature, and thy birth,
And therefore little did my wretchedness,
Nor from my wounds the noisome stench deter
Thy generous heart. I have a little respite;
Help me, my son I I'll try to rise; this weakness
Will leave me soon, and then we'll go together.
NEOPTOLEMUS
I little thought to find thee thus restored.
Trust me, I joy to see thee free from pain,
And hear thee speak; the marks of death were on thee,
Raise thyself up; thy friends here, if thou wilt,
Shall carry thee, 'twill be no burthen to them
If we request it.
PHILOCTETES
No; thy hand alone;
I will not trouble them; 'twill be enough
If they can bear with me and my distemper
When we embark.
NEOPTOLEMUS
Well, be it so; but rise.
PHILOCTETES (rising)
Oh I never fear; I'll rise as well as ever.
NEOPTOLEMUS (half to himself)
How shall I act?
PHILOCTETES
What says my son?
NEOPTOLEMUS
Alas!
I know not what to say; my doubtful mind-
PHILOCTETES
Talked you of doubts? You did not surely.
NEOPTOLEMUS
Aye,
That's my misfortune.
PHILOCTETES
Is then my distress
The cause at last you will not take me with you?
NEOPTOLEMUS
All is distress and misery when we act
Against our nature and consent to ill.
PHILOCTETES
But sure to help a good man in misfortunes
Is not against thy nature.
NEOPTOLEMUS
Men will call me
A villain; that distracts me.
PHILOCTETES
Not for this;
For what thou meanst to do thou mayst deserve it
NEOPTOLEMUS
What shall I do? Direct me, Jove! To hide
What I should speak, and tell a base untruth
Were double guilt.
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