Philoctetes
PHILOCTETES, NEOPTOLEMUS, CHORUS.
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Strangers, who are you that have steer'd your bark
To this rude coast, which knows not friendly port,
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Nor habitation? What your country say;
Of what race may I speak you? for your garb
Presents the modes of Greece, to me most dear.
I wish to hear your voice. Nay, do not look
With fear and horror at this savage form,
But pity me, a poor forsaken wretch,
Alone, and friendless, and oppress'd with ills.
Speak to me, if you come as friends, O speak;
This I should not refuse; refuse not you.
Philoctetes. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.