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Philoctetes
927
Thou wasting fire, thou every thing to sense
Most hideous, thou detested instrument
Of horrid villainy, what hast thou done?
How hast thou wrong'd me? How deceived me? Wretch,
Dost thou not blush to see me at thy knees
930
A suppliant? Thou hast robb'd me of my life,
Taking my bow. I pray thee give it back,
Restore it, I implore thee, O my son;
Ah, take not, by the gods that guard thy hearth,
Take not what yields my life support, away!
Unhappy me! He speaks not yet, but looks
935
As he would never part with it again.
935
Ye ports, ye cliffs projecting o'er the waves,
Ye herds of mountain-beasts, yecraggy rocks,
To you (none other have I to address)
To you, who oft have heard me, I complain
Of these my wrongs. He swore to me, this youth,
Son of Achilles, swore to bear me home;
940
To Troy he bears me: pledging his right hand
He took the sacred bow of Hercules,
And now detains it. To the Grecian host
Vaunting his prowess, as some manly might
He had subdued, he drags me hence by force;
Nor knows he that his conquest is obtain'd
945
O'er one long dead, the shadow of a smoke,
A flitting phantom. Had these nerves the strength
Which once they had, he would not triumph now;
Nor but by fraud this conquest hath he gain'd.
With falsehoods, wretched me! I am betray'd';
What can I do?... But give me back my bow;
950
Be thou again thyself. What dost thou say??
Still art thou silent? Ah, I am undone!..
Thou double opening of my rock, again
I enter thee, but of my arms deprived,
The means of my subsistence, in thy cave
To waste away alone, nor winged bird
955
Nor mountain-beast with these my shafts to pierce,
955
But 'midst my woes to die, to be a feast
To those on whom I feasted, and a prey
To those on whom I prey'd, and recompense
Slaughter with slaughter: thus am I betray'd
By one, whose heart, I thought, ne'er harbour'd ill.
I will not curse thee yet, till I shall learn
960
If honour once more may thy purpose change:
If not, may ruin seize thee and base death!
Thou wasting fire, thou every thing to sense
Most hideous, thou detested instrument
Of horrid villainy, what hast thou done?
How hast thou wrong'd me? How deceived me? Wretch,
Dost thou not blush to see me at thy knees
930
A suppliant? Thou hast robb'd me of my life,
Taking my bow. I pray thee give it back,
Restore it, I implore thee, O my son;
Ah, take not, by the gods that guard thy hearth,
Take not what yields my life support, away!
Unhappy me! He speaks not yet, but looks
935
As he would never part with it again.
935
Ye ports, ye cliffs projecting o'er the waves,
Ye herds of mountain-beasts, yecraggy rocks,
To you (none other have I to address)
To you, who oft have heard me, I complain
Of these my wrongs. He swore to me, this youth,
Son of Achilles, swore to bear me home;
940
To Troy he bears me: pledging his right hand
He took the sacred bow of Hercules,
And now detains it. To the Grecian host
Vaunting his prowess, as some manly might
He had subdued, he drags me hence by force;
Nor knows he that his conquest is obtain'd
945
O'er one long dead, the shadow of a smoke,
A flitting phantom. Had these nerves the strength
Which once they had, he would not triumph now;
Nor but by fraud this conquest hath he gain'd.
With falsehoods, wretched me! I am betray'd';
What can I do?... But give me back my bow;
950
Be thou again thyself. What dost thou say??
Still art thou silent? Ah, I am undone!..
Thou double opening of my rock, again
I enter thee, but of my arms deprived,
The means of my subsistence, in thy cave
To waste away alone, nor winged bird
955
Nor mountain-beast with these my shafts to pierce,
955
But 'midst my woes to die, to be a feast
To those on whom I feasted, and a prey
To those on whom I prey'd, and recompense
Slaughter with slaughter: thus am I betray'd
By one, whose heart, I thought, ne'er harbour'd ill.
I will not curse thee yet, till I shall learn
960
If honour once more may thy purpose change:
If not, may ruin seize thee and base death!
Philoctetes. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.