Philoctetes
468
Now, by the memory of thy lionoured sire,
465
By thy loved mother, ])y whate'er remains
465
On earth most dear to thee, oh ! hear me now.
465
Thy suppliant ! Do not, do not thus forsake me,
Alone, oppressed, deserted, as thou seest.
In this sad place. I shall, I know it must, be
A burthen to thee. But, oh ! bear it kindly \
For ever doth the noble mind abhor
Th' ungenerous deed, and loves humanity ;
Disgrace attends thee if thou dost forsake me.
If not, immortal fame rewards thy goodness.
Thou mayst convey me safe to CEta's shores
In one short day ; I'll trouble you no longer.
470
Hide mo in any part where I may least
470
Molest you. Hear me ! By the guardian god
470
Of the poor suppliant, all protecting Jove,
I beg. Behold me at thy feet, infirm,
And wretched as I am, I clasp thy knees.
Leave me not here then, where there is no mark
Of human footstep — take me to thy home !
Or to Eubooa's port, to CEta, thence
Of Sperchius' gentle stream, to meet my father,
If yet he lives ; for, oh ! I begged him oft
By those who hither came, to fetch me hence —
Or is he dead, or they neglectful bent
475
Their hasty course to their own native soil.
475
Be thou my better guide ! Pity and save
The poor and wretched. Think, my son, how frail
And full of danger is the state of man —
Now prosperous, now adverse. Who feels no ills
Should therefore fear them ; and when fortune smiles
Be doubly cautious, lest destruction come
Remorseless on him, and he fall unpitied.
Philoctetes. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.