Neop. Be silent then and resolute; you see
His Eyes are open’d, and his Head is rais’d.
Phil. O Light succeeding Sleep, Death’s Image! see,
Beyond my Hopes, the Stranger’s faithful Guard!
This I could never hope, my Son, to find,
That you with such Compassion cou’d behold
The dismal racking Torments which I bear,
And wait with kind Assistance, to relieve
A poor afflicted Soul; not so the good,
The great Atridæ, were they here, wou’d grant
Such friendly Aid; But thou art gen’rous, good,
And great; of Ancestors the same you’re sprung.
My nauseous Wounds, my tiresome Groans you bore
With unexampled Patience; now my Pains
Abate, they’re gone, and sunk in sweet Oblivion,
Do you yourself with helping Hand up raise me.
Now that my Torture’s vanish’d, let us haste
On Board; for Time requires our Speed.
Neop. What Joys I feel at this surprizing Sight!
To see you free from Pains and breathing still!
For all the Marks of ghastly Death I saw
In thy pale Face, by Life deserted quite.
Arise, my Friend, and these shall bear thee hence,
Well pleas’d to do’t if you and I command.
Phil. I thank thee for thy Offer; but, my Son,
Raise me thy self, lest the ungrateful Stench
Offend their Nostrils; they must bear it all
While I’m on Board, and giv’n to them in Charge.
Neop. Thy Will is mine—But help to raise thy self.
Phil. I shall; for well I’m us’d to this hard Task.
Neop. Ye Gods! what shall I do?——
Phil. ———What’s this, my Son?
What means this sudden Change? and why these Sighs?
Neop. O my distracted Soul! what Doubts arise!
Phil. And do you doubt, my Son? O never own it.
Neop. My Suff’rings now are equal to his Pains. (aside.)
Phil. Are you offended at my foul Disease,
And now relent to take me in your Ship?
Is this the Hardship that weighs down your Spirits.
Neop. All is a Hardship to a gen’rous Soul,
When ’tis oblig’d to turn against its Nature;
To act against Compassion, which was stampt
Upon it’s Essence when it first began.
Phil. But you do neither act nor speak a Thing
That’s unbecoming of your noble Sire,
In doing good to me a virtuous Man.
Neop. But for the Character which I must bear,
The base, the treach’rous Character, my Friend!
That is my Grief, ’tis that which wounds me most.
Phil. Your Actions give me no great Cause to fear,
But your Expressions much alarm my Soul.
Neop. Great Jove, what shall I do! I’m doubly curss’d,
Both in concealing what I shou’d reveal,
And speaking what I rather shou’d keep secret.
Phil. If I mistake not I am now betray’d,
And your Intent’s to leave me here behind.
Neop. I shall not leave thee, but my only Grief
Is that I take thee hence, to thy great Sorrow.
Phil. What’s this you say, my Son? your Words explain.
Neop. I shall no longer hide my Thoughts; you must
For Troy prepare, and to the Grecian Fleet
We must from hence to the Atridæ sail.
Phil. Ah me! what’s this?——
Neop. ——Don’t grieve before you know.
Phil. Know what? inform me what you mean to do.
Neop. To free thee from this foul Disease, and then
To lay Troy waste by thy assisting Hand.
Phil. Are you for certain then resolv’d on this?
Neop. Necessity commands, you must obey;
Be deaf to Anger, and in Peace submit.
Phil. Undone! poor Wretch! betray’d! is’t thus you act,
My Friend? O give me back my faithful Bow.
Neop. That cannot be; for to the Pow’rs Supreme
Justice and Publick Good command our Faith.
Phil. All-seeing Sun, all Terror, all Deceit!
Detested Wretch, what hast thou done to me?
How am I now betray’d? dost thou not blush
To see me thus on bended Knees before thee?
Thou impious, cruel, base, destructive Man!
Of Life you robb’d me when you took my Bow.
O give it back, upon my Knees I beg;
Return my Life’s Support, by all your Gods,
Your Country Gods! don’t rob me of my Life.
O wretched me! will you not speak one Word,
But look averse, resolv’d to keep my Right?
Ye Shores, ye Promontories, and ye Rocks,
Ye Beasts, my dumb Companions in this Isle,
To you I now complain; none else will hear
My sad Complaints, to you I speak my Grief:
To you so well acquainted with my Woes.
See what the Son of great Achilles does!
He who has sworn to take me home, to Troy
Now bears me; and forgetful of his Vow
And plighted Hand, the sacred Bow he keeps,
Which once belong’d to the great Son of Jove.
He drags me to the hated Greeks away,
As if some mighty Conquest he had gain’d;
What is his Triumph! but a poor dead Carcass!
A Cloud of Smoak! an incorporeal Shade!
Had I the Strength I once possess’d, in vain
Wou’d he attempt (or ev’n as now I am)
To force me; had he not o’ercome by Fraud.
Now I’m betray’d, undone! what shall I do?
Return my Bow, and be thy self again.
No Answer; but dumb Silence; then I’m lost.
To thee again, my pervious Rock, I go,
Naked and void of any earthly Food;
Now must I die enclos’d alone in thee.
No Bird, or Mount-ascending Beast shall be
Slain by my Bow; but I, poor lonely I,
Who fed on them, shall be to them for Food;
They’ll hunt for me for whom I hunted once;
And Blood for Blood, and slain for slain I’ll be.
This Evil’s from an unexpected Hand!
O may you never die, before I know
Whether for this base Action you repent!
If not; I wish you an inglorious Death.
Chorus. What shall we do? ’Tis now full Time to sail,
To put in Execution our Commands.
Neop. Compassion moves me for this friendless Man;
And has long since engag’d my Heart to him.
Phil. O for the Gods let pity plead for me!
And do not brand thy self with such a Stain
Of black Disgrace, as to be thought perfidious.
Neop. What shall I do? I wish I never had
Left Scyros to be thus perplex’d with Woes.
Phil. Thou’rt not inclin’d to wicked Deeds thy self,
Thy Nature’s gentler far; some horrid Mind
Suggested this to thee; let others whom
So base a Crime befits perform this Task.
Neop. What shall we do, my Friends——
Ul. ———Basest of Men!
You think not to return the Bow again.
Phil. O Heav’ns, methinks I hear Ulysses speak!
Ul. And you may see him too as well as hear him.
Phil. Alas for me! deceiv’d! betray’d! undone!
’Tis he contriv’d the Fraud—he got my Bow.
Ul. ’Twas I—I own the Fraud—and no one else.
Phil. O give me back my Bow again——
Ul. ———Not I,
But you shall march with it by Peace or Force.
Phil. Detested Man! shall these use Force to me?
Ul. They shall, except you willingly depart.
Phil. O Lemnian Land! and all-subduing Flames
Of Vulcan! can you bear that I shou’d hence
Be dragg’d by Force, in Spight of thy Protection?
Ul. ’Tis Jove that o’er this Isle presides; ’tis Jove;
’Tis Jove decrees what I must execute.
Phil. Impious Ulysses, what Pretence is this!
You introduce the Gods to vouch your Lies.
Ul. No. But my Truths;—Therefore be gone you must.
Ul. ——You shall, and must obey.
Phil. Alas my Father has begot a Slave!
To gen’rous Freedom I’m a perfect Stranger.
Ul. Not so. But equal to those mighty Princes,
With whom you’re destin’d to demolish Troy.
Phil. Who I! all Racks I rather wou’d endure;
I’d rather live for ever here alone.
Neop. What do you mean to do?——
Phil. ———I mean to fall
Headlong, and dash my Brains upon that Rock.
Ul. Seize him, and take him from the Precipice.
Phil. My Hands! what rude Affronts are these ye feel!
Robb’d of your faithful Bow, your best Defence!
You who have never fram’d one Thought of Good;
Or shewn one gen’rous Principle within;
How have you circumvented me! and gain’d
Upon my honest Heart, under Disguise
Of my Friend’s Son estrang’d, not fit to join
With thee, as he was fit to take my Part;
Artless to do but what he was enjoin’d—
’Tis evident he grieves at what is done;
At his own Rashness, and my Suff’rings more;
Thy wicked Soul, from dark Retirement, still
Contriving Evils, gain’d upon his Weakness,
And took Advantage of his tender Years;
His unexperienc’d Years; to work thy Plot:
And now, insulting Man, you bind me fast
To take me from these Shores, where once you left me,
Friendless, forsaken, banish’d, and alone;
Dead ’midst the living; may some horrid Fate
Attend thee for it; This I often pray’d.
No Joys to me the Gods propitious give;
You live in Pleasures; I am doom’d to Woes.
And what is worse become a Sport to thee
And the Atridæ, whom you come to serve.
It was by Force and Stratagem compell’d
You sail’d with them from Greece; I freely went
With sev’n good Ships commanded by my self;
From whence, as you relate, they cast me out;
As they relate it all the Blame is thine.
Whom come you now to take? why lead me hence?
On what Account? For I am nothing now.
Long since I’ve been translated to the Dead.
Thou who art hated by the Gods above,
Am I not lame, and loathsome, with my Wounds?
How can you pray to them? or burn your Incense?
Or with Libations those high Pow’rs invoke;
While I am in the Ship, in which you sail?
’Twas this Pretence you made to leave me here.
O may you perish for these Injuries!
(I once again with Zeal repeat my Curse)
For what you’ve done to me; if Heav’n regards
The just, and makes Reprizals for the wrongs
They bear; and I am sure it does—or else
You had not hither come—some Sting divine
Must goad you with Remorse, to think of me;
O’erwhelm’d with all the Sorrows Man can bear.
O my dear native Land! and all ye Gods!
Who see what’s done within this World below,
Avenge my present Suff’rings on them all,
If ye can pity such a Wretch as me;
In their Destruction I should find a Cure.
Chorus. Wretched the Man, and grievous is his Speech!
He has a Soul that will not stoop to Evils.
Ul. I cou’d say many things in answer to
This Speech of his, cou’d Arguments prevail;
But now I use but one; for such ’tis meet;
This is my Method with such Men as he;
When there’s a Trial of the Just and Good,
There’s none alive more piously inclin’d—
My Reasons ever did subdue; but thee
I can’t convince; for which I shall submit—
Detain him not—but let him stay behind—
We shall not need thee, while we have thy Bow;
Teucer can manage it as well as you;
And I myself can bend the Bow as well,
At least as you; and take as good an Aim—
Where is the Use of thee?—Then fare thee well.
Here traverse Lemnos; we shall sail away,
And gain that Honour which you might obtain.
Phil. What shall I do? Unhappy Wretch, Shall you
Shine with those Arms among the hated Greeks?
Ul. In vain you contradict, for now I go.
Phil. Son of Achilles, won’t you speak one Word
E’er you depart, but leave me thus forlorn.
Ul. Begone without Regard, lest you relent;
Your gen’rous Heart must not defeat our Fortune.
Phil. Will ye, my Friends, fly off, and leave me thus?
And have no pity for the Wrongs I feel?
Chorus. This is our Captain; He determines all;
What he prescribes must be a Law to us.
Neop. I know Ulysses will condemn me for
The Tenderness I shew; However stay,
If it seems good to Philoctetes; stay
Until the Sailors have the Ship prepar’d,
And we our Vows perform unto the Gods.
Perhaps his Mind may change, and then we go,
And see that you be ready at our Call.