Philoctetes
PHILOCTETES, NEOPTOLEMUS, CHORUS.
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Is not this strange? What, dares Ulysses hope:
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With soothing words to win me to embark
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With him, and trail me through the Grecian camp
Aspectacle! No: rather would I hear
The serpent, from whose venom'd tooth my foot
Received this wound. But he dares speak and act
Whate'er is base. I know that he will come;
Let us then hence; with all its, broad expanse
Let the sea roll between his bark and us.
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Let us begone: for well-timed speed (the toil
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Surmounted) brings the calm of sweet repose.
Philoctetes. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.