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Philoctetes
O life !
Detested, why wilt thou still keep me here?
Why not dismiss me to the tomb ! Alas !
What can I do ? How can I disbelieve
My generous friend ? I must consent, and yet
Can I do this, and look upon the sun?
Can I behold my friends — will they forgive.
Will they associate with me after this?
And you, ye heavenly orbs that roll around me,
How will ye bear to see me linked with those
Who have destroyed me, e'en the sons of x\treus,
E'en with Ulysses, source of all my woes?
My sufferings past I could forget ; but oh !
I dread the woes to come ; for well I know
When once the mind 's corrupted it brings forth
Unnumbered crimes, and ills to ills succeed.
It moves my wonder much that thou, my friend,
Shouldst thus advise me, whom it ill becomes
To think of Troy. I rather had believed
Thou wouldst have sent me far, far off fi-om those
Who have defrauded thee of thy just right,
x\nd gave thy arms away. Are these the men
Whom thou wouldst serve? whom thou wouldst thus
compel me
To save and to defend. ? It must not be.
Kemember, O my son ! the solemn oath
Thou gav'st to bear me to my native soil.
Do this, my friend, remain thyself at Scyros,
And leave these Avretches to be wretched still.
Thus shalt thou merit double thanks, from me
And from thy father ; nor by succour given
To vile betrayers j>rove thyself as vile.
Ned. Thou Siiyst most truly. Yet confide in heaven,
Trust to thy friend, and leave this hated place.
O life !
Detested, why wilt thou still keep me here?
Why not dismiss me to the tomb ! Alas !
What can I do ? How can I disbelieve
My generous friend ? I must consent, and yet
Can I do this, and look upon the sun?
Can I behold my friends — will they forgive.
Will they associate with me after this?
And you, ye heavenly orbs that roll around me,
How will ye bear to see me linked with those
Who have destroyed me, e'en the sons of x\treus,
E'en with Ulysses, source of all my woes?
My sufferings past I could forget ; but oh !
I dread the woes to come ; for well I know
When once the mind 's corrupted it brings forth
Unnumbered crimes, and ills to ills succeed.
It moves my wonder much that thou, my friend,
Shouldst thus advise me, whom it ill becomes
To think of Troy. I rather had believed
Thou wouldst have sent me far, far off fi-om those
Who have defrauded thee of thy just right,
x\nd gave thy arms away. Are these the men
Whom thou wouldst serve? whom thou wouldst thus
compel me
To save and to defend. ? It must not be.
Kemember, O my son ! the solemn oath
Thou gav'st to bear me to my native soil.
Do this, my friend, remain thyself at Scyros,
And leave these Avretches to be wretched still.
Thus shalt thou merit double thanks, from me
And from thy father ; nor by succour given
To vile betrayers j>rove thyself as vile.
Ned. Thou Siiyst most truly. Yet confide in heaven,
Trust to thy friend, and leave this hated place.
Philoctetes. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.