Chapter I: Part 1

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THE
PHILOCTETES
OF
_SOPHOCLES_.

_Translated from the GREEK._

_Graiis ingenium, Graiis dedit ore rotundo
Musa loqui, præter laudem nullius avaris._

HOR.

_DUBLIN_:
Printed by J. HYDE and E. DOBSON, for R. OWEN
Bookseller in _Skinner-Row_. M.DCC.XXV.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TO THE

RIGHT HONOURABLE

THE

Lady_ CARTERET_.

Madam,

With great Submission I present and dedicate the following Translation to Your Ladyship, having no other way of shewing my Gratitude, for the great Honour _My Lord Lieutenant_ did me by His Presence, when my Scholars acted a Play of _Sophocles_ in _Greek_. I have made choice of the same Author to entertain _Your Ladyship_, and he now makes his Appearance before You in plain _English_, but much to his disadvantage, which I hope will be excused, since I attempted it for the Reason which I already mentioned.

The Translation I have made is as close as the Propriety of our Language will admit, and _Your Ladyship_ will observe in it at least some Traces of the Author’s Genius. But as the lowest Painter in drawing _Your Ladyship_’s Picture, would be able to discover, that he at least designed to represent something extraordinary, and the best must needs fall infinitely short of the Original; So I cannot but hope that _Your Ladyship_ will observe in this Translation some faint Lineaments of the Author’s great Genius, superior to that of all modern Tragedians. And I cannot but fear, that you will easily perceive how unable I am to do him Justice, thro’ my own Defects, as well as those of our own Language. And this would still be worse, if _Your Ladyship_ should be so cruel to desire _My Lord Lieutenant_ to criticize upon these Papers, His Excellency will detect, and expose me in every Line, and convince You, in a few Minutes, that I am as far unable to express that Sublime in _Sophocles_, as I should be able to describe the Virtues of Your Ladyship, or His Excellency, which is the only Cause that I pass them over in Silence in this Dedication.

I have added a few Notes, to explain some Passages that depend upon the Fabulous Stories of the antient _Greeks_, which perhaps may have escaped _Your Ladyship_’s Reading.

I humbly entreat _Your Ladyship_’s Pardon for this my Presumption, and remain with all Respect

_Your Ladyship_’s

_Most Obedient,

Humble Servant_,

THOMAS SHERIDAN.

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The ARGUMENT.

To give some Light into the following Tragedy, it will not be amiss to give a short Account of the Persons concerned in it, that by knowing their Characters beforehand, the Reader may better judge of the Author’s Performance. The first who appears upon the Stage is ULYSSES, of whom I shall give the following short History.

ULYSSES was King of _Ithaca_, _Cephalenia_, and _Dulichium_, (Islands in the _Ionian_ Sea). _Homer_ makes him remarkable for his great Experience, Eloquence, Counsel, and Skill in Military Affairs. And likewise very famous for his Stratagems. It was he who detected _Achilles_, disguised among the Daughters of _Lycomedes_; It was he who contriv’d the bringing of _Philoctetes_ and his Arrows against _Troy_; who stole off the Ashes of _Laomedon_; the _Palladium_, or Image of _Minerva_; who killed _Rhesus_ King of _Thrace_, and brought away his Horses, before they drank of the River _Xanthus_. For all these Conditions were necessary to be fullfilled; or _Troy_ could never be taken.

NEOPTOLEMUS in the Original signifies a young Warriour; his true Name was _Pyrrhus_. He was the Son of _Achilles_. A young Man of strict Virtue and Honour, and one of great Tenderness and Humanity; but at the same Time he was ambitious. This was the only weak Part where ULYSSES could attack him, which we find he took Advantage of, with great Art and Subtlety. Yet, what gives us great Pleasure in the _Catastrophe_ of this Tragedy, we find, upon the moving Exclamations and Complaints of PHILOCTETES, that his good Nature, and the great Sense he had of Justice, prevails over all other Considerations.

As for the CHORUS it is the only thing unaccountable in the antient Tragedians. To examine nicely into the whole Conduct of it would require a particular Treatise, and therefore I pass it by for many Reasons, which would rather be impertinent to the Reader, than any way agreeable, or improving; However it will not be amiss to set down here what _Horace_ says of the _Chorus_, in his Art of Poetry.

A _Chorus_ shou’d supply what Action wants,
And hath a gen’rous and a manly Part;
Bridles wild Rage, loves rigid Honesty,
And strict Observance of impartial Laws,
Sobriety, Security, and Peace,
And begs the Gods to turn blind Fortune’s Wheel,
To raise the Wretched, and pull down the Proud.
But nothing must be sung between the Acts
But what some way conduces to the Plot.

ROSCOMMON.

PHILOCTETES, Son of _Pæan_, went with seven Ships of his own a Voluntier to _Troy_; and, as _Sophocles_ relates it, he was stung by a Viper in one of his Feet, which occasioned such an offensive Smell, and so great a Pain, that the Disturbance which he gave the _Greeks_ with his Exclamations oblig’d the _Grecian_ Generals to expose him in the Wilds of _Lemnos_. For which monstrous and ungrateful Treatment nothing less than the Ghost of HERCULES appearing to him could make him join a second time against the _Trojans_.

The _Merchant_ is a Person unknown, introduced by the Poet to make out the Stratagem of ULYSSES.

HERCULES, the Son of _Jupiter_ and _Alcumena_; much persecuted by _Juno_ because he was the Off-spring of a stoln Amour. Hence arise the great Number of Fables of his prodigious Exploits all over the World.

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_Dramatis Personæ._

PHILOCTETES.
ULYSSES.
NEOPTOLEMUS.
CHORUS.
MERCHANT.
Ghost of HERCULES.

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THE
_PHILOCTETES_
OF
SOPHOCLES.

SCENE I.

_Enter_ ULYSSES.

_Ul._ Now are we landed on the [1]_Lemnian_ Coast, Encompass’d by the Ocean’s rolling Waves, Where not a Print of human Foot is seen, Nor House, nor Hut; where, _Neoptolemus_, Thou blooming Branch of the renown’d _Achilles_, I left expos’d the [2]_Melian_ Son of _Pæan_. Our Princes thus commanded; I obey’d, Because a dreadful, nauseous, ranckling Wound Eat thro’ his Foot, and made him rend the Skies With Shrieks, and loud Laments, which much disturb’d The Army; no Religious Rites cou’d be Perform’d in Peace; of which I’ll say no more; For Time contracts my Tale, and Dread of him, Lest he shou’d find me here; and so confound My secret Wiles to apprehend his Person. The rest is thine. With careful Search explore A pervious Rock, so form’d as to receive The comfortable Beams of Winter-Suns, And the cool Breezes from the Sea in Summer, With fanning Wings inviting gentle Sleep. Fast by this Rock, upon the Left, you’ll find A Spring, if still it’s living Stream be fed; To this repair with silent Pace, and see Whether he lies conceal’d within these Bounds Advance with cautious Steps, and let me know, Then we’ll consult what next is to be done.

_Neop._ Short is your Errand; for I now descry
The Cave which you express----

_Ul._ ---- above? below?
Or where? in vain I cast my Eyes around.

_Neop._ ’Tis there above; but not a single Trace
Of any Path conducts us tow’rds the Rock.

_Ul._ Go search, perhaps he is to Sleep reclin’d.

_Neop._ There’s not a human Creature in this Place.

_Ul._ Nor fit Provision for a human Creature?

_Neop._ Some gather’d Leaves which by Impression shew
They have been lain on.

_Ul._ Is there nothing more?

_Neop._ Yes. I observe a wooden Vessel, fram’d By some unskilful Hand, a little Pot To boil his Food is all that I can see.

_Ul._ These then are all the Utensils he has?

_Neop._ Alas! they’re all, except some Rags a-drying,
Which by their Stains denote his fester’d Wound.

_Ul._ Then I’m convinc’d he dwells in this Abode, And can’t be far from hence; his Wounds forbid A distant Walk. Perhaps he went for Food, Or Herbs to ease his Pains; but send this Man To watch his Motion, lest by a Surprize He takes me here; for justly I suspect He’d gladly seize Me above all the _Greeks_.

_Neop._ I’ll send him straight to execute your Will----
Speak, is there any more you’d have me do?

_Ul._ Son of the great _Achilles_, it behoves thee To use thy Prudence here, as well as Valour; Whatever farther Counsel I shall give, Perform, and with a chearful Mind assist.

_Neop._ What’s your Command?----

_Ul_. ---- To _Philoctetes_ go, With soothing Speeches his Belief betray; When he enquires your Name, and whence you come, Tell him _Pelides_[3] is your Sire; so far Tell Truth; and that you now are homeward bound-- Disgusted at the _Greeks_ you fly their Fleet. That by Entreaties, and incessant Prayers, They flatter’d you from home, to conquer _Troy_; But now your Father’s Armour they deny, Which by _Hereditary Right_ you claim. Tell him they’re giv’n to me; abuse and rail With all the Malice of an injur’d Foe; Speak what you please of Me, you can’t offend. If this Advice you spurn, you bring to all The _Greeks_ one great and universal Sorrow; For if you don’t contrive to get his Arrows, You never can be conquerour of _Troy_. Besides, you had a former Friendship with him, Which makes you now the fitter to betray. You went a Voluntier, not with the first, Who bound by Oaths and fatal Influence, Sail’d against _Ilium_; This was not my Case; So that my Life’s in Danger, your’s no less, If while he’s arm’d with them he sees me here. Your Bus’ness then is to deceive him straight, And steal th’ unconquerable Weapons from him. I know by Nature you are much averse To Artifice, but think how sweet it is To bear such Arrows as are sure of Conquest. Then bravely dare to do what I advise, The Time will come, the World will think you just For this Exploit; lay by your Shame one Hour, And give yourself to me, and ever hence You shall be deem’d the justest Man on Earth.

_Neop._ [4]Son of _Laertes_, I am griev’d to hear Such Words from thee; to practise them is Death. I was not born to stoop to such vile Arts, Nor he from whom I glory to be sprung. If open Force or Fortitude require My Aid, I’ll venture; but I scorn Deceit. Sure one poor maimed Wretch can’t overthrow Such as we are, and since I’m sent with thee To join in this Adventure, I will use My utmost Force to help thee, nor betray The Trust repos’d--but let me speak my mind-- I’d rather bravely die, than basely conquer.

_Ul._ Son of the greatest Man, when I was young My Tongue was less employ’d, my Hands were more; But now, by long Experience, I’m convinc’d That Language more than Action can prevail.

_Neop._ But you a lying Language recommend.

_Ul._ I urge it still, this Man you must deceive.

_Neop._ But why deceive, can’t I as well perswade.

_Ul._ Force and Perswasion are to him the same.

_Neop._ Has he so great a Confidence in Strength?

_Ul._ Where’er his Arrows fly they carry Death.

_Neop._ Who can with Safety then approach his Presence?

_Ul._ You can’t, except you circumvent him first.

_Neop._ Do you not think it base to forge a Lie?

_Ul._ No; when your Safety on a Lie depends.

_Neop._ Who when he lies can see another’s Face?

_Ul._ When for your Gain you act, you shou’d not scruple.

_Neop._ Where is my Gain to make him go to _Troy_?

_Ul._ Because his Weapons must o’erthrow the Town.

_Neop._ Then, as you said, the Conquest can’t be mine.

_Ul._ In vain his Arrows fly without your Aid,
And you attack without their Aid in vain.

_Neop._ If so, I must deceive----

_Ul._ ---- and well you do,
For two Rewards you’re sure of----

_Neop._ ---- ---- ---- what are they?

_Ul._ Wisdom and Fortitude will both be thine.

_Neop._ Farewel then Modesty, for once farewel.

_Ul._ Do you remember all my Counsels?

_Neop._ Yes.
I can’t forget where once I give Assent.

_Ul._ Here wait his coming, I must hence withdraw Lest I be seen; back to the Ship I send Our Spy, and if I find a long Delay I’ll send him hither, dress’d in such Disguise That he shall pass for Captain of the Ship. His very Language too shall be disguis’d; Not so but you shall plainly understand What is convenient to be done; hence then In haste I go, and leave the rest to thee. May _Mercury_ assist, God of Deceit, And wise _Minerva_, on whose Care depend Whole States; for she is still _Ulysses’_ Friend.

ANTISTROPHICA

STROPHE.

Chorus. What shall I do a Stranger here?
Or what conceal?
Or what reveal?
Behold I see the Man appear!
Instruct me then; for well I know
That Arts may Arts excell,
As well
Counsels Counsels overthrow.
Among the Sceptred Great,
Few can fathom the Designs of State.
To thee, my Son, this princely Pow’r is given;
A Pow’r deriv’d from Heav’n.
How far subservient I must be, relate.

Neop. Perhaps you willingly wou’d trace,
With long expecting Eyes,
The wretched solitary Place
Where _Philoctetes_ lies.
Then look around and do not fear,
And when he comes this way,
A dreadful Sight approaching near,
What I command obey.

ANTISTROPHE.

Chorus. I was determin’d long before
To fix my Eyes on thine,
Whatever Object they explore
To view the same is mine.
But tell me where this wretched Creature lives,
Or in what Field he lies,
Such Information much Advantage gives;
For much I dread Surprize.
What Place? what Path? what Seat?
Is it an open or a close Retreat?

Neop. No Place to rest his weary Head,
A pervious Rock you see is both his House and Bed.

Chorus. Where is the friendless Creature then?
The most unfortunate of Men!

Neop. Not far from hence, to find him Food,
The poor dejected Soul
Is gone to shed the harmless Blood
Of some unguarded Fowl:
He lives on present Chance they say,
His winged Arrows fly,
To bring the Food of ev’ry Day
Down flutt’ring from the Sky.
But what avail him all the slain!
For still he feels a sleepless Pain.

Chorus. Much I lament his dismal Case,
Without the Sight of human Face;
Unhappy, and alone!
Whole Nights and Days
Rack’d with Disease!
To sigh, to grieve, to groan!
How can he bear the dreadful Shock of Fate?
What num’rous Woes
Encompass those,
Who live not in a middle State.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus. Shou’d you the noblest ancient Lineage trace,
You’ll find him of an equal Race;
And yet behold him of all Joy bereft,
Behold him solitary left!
No Friend, no kind Companion to relieve his Pain.
The spotted and the shagged Beasts around
Unheeding graze;
Hunger and Torment he must both sustain;
For both at once the wretched Mortal seize.
With piercing Shouts and Cries
He rends the Skies,
And _Eccho_ faithfully returns the Sound.

Neop. Nothing of this my Breast can move,
If I in things divine am skill’d,
Whatever is decreed above,
Must be on Earth fulfill’d.
At _Chrysa_ first his Malady began,
’Twas there the angry Gods attack’d the wretched Man.
Nor can we think they plac’d him here alone,
Without a Friend,
For any other End,
But that they fix’d a Season of their own,
When ev’ry Wall,
Of _Troy_ shou’d fall,
And _Troy_ no longer be a Town.

Chorus. Be silent for a while---- ---- ----

Neop. ---- ---- ---- For what I pray?

Chorus. His piteous Groans afflict my Ear,
I hear them now approaching near.

Neop. What here? or there? or in what Place?
Methinks I hear a mournful Cry
Of one, who moves a wretched Pace,
And dreads his maimed Foot to try.
’Tis he instructed by his Voice I know;
I feel the murth’ring Language of his Woe.

Chorus. But have my Son---- ----

Neop. ---- ---- have what?

Chorus. Some other Thoughts; you see him near at Hand,
Not like a Shepherd with a tuneful Reed;
But one who dreads upon his Foot to stand,
Because the lightest Pressure makes it bleed.
If by ill chance he trips against a Stone,
With loud lamenting Voice he shrieks and roars;
And when he spies a Ship; he cries, begone!
Fly far from these inhospitable Shores!

_Enter_ PHILOCTETES.

_Phil._ Alas, ye Strangers! tell me whence ye come, Whence to these wild, these unfrequented Shores? There’s neither House, nor Port! whence? tell me whence Ye come? your Country and your Names: I see You’re _Greeks_ in Dress, a lovely Dress to me. Delight my Ears for once with welcome Sounds; My native Tongue; ah! don’t ye start, or dread To see me thus grown savage; rather shew Compassion to a poor unfortunate, Friendless, forsaken Wretch; speak if you’re Friends. O! answer me in haste, it is not meet A mutual Conversation shou’d be wanting.

_Neop._ Know we are _Greeks_; for this you want to know.

_Phil._ O dearest Voice, after ten long years Silence, To hear the Words of such a Man! what Joy! What Rapture does it give! my Son, tell who Has brought you hither? what Necessity? What Expectations? or what friendly Wind Has wafted you to us? O! tell us all, For much I long to know the happy Cause.

_Neop._ My Country’s _Scyros_; homewards I am bound; My Sire’s _Achilles_; _Neoptolemus_ My Name; thus I have told you all in short.

_Phil._ Son of my dearest Friend, and dearest Country; Of [5]_Lycomedes_ the peculiar Care When young; what Fleet has brought thee here? or whence?

_Neop._ From _Troy_ directly, thence I steer my Course.

_Phil._ What’s this you say? when first we went to _Troy_
You were not with us on that Expedition.

_Neop._ Why, were you one of that advent’rous Fleet?

_Phil._ Know you me not, my Son?

_Neop._ ---- ---- How shou’d I know
A Person whom I never saw before?

_Phil._ Did you not hear my Name, or the Report
Of all the Torments which have rack’d my Soul?

_Neop._ No not one single Word of Name or Torments.

_Phil._ Ah! wretched me!--odious to Heav’n’s great Powers!-- My woful Case was neither heard at Home, Nor ev’n among the _Greeks_,--but those who cast Me out smile at my Wrongs, and keep them secret. My Wounds still ranckle, and encrease my Pain. Beloved Youth, Son of the fam’d _Pelides_, I the Successor of great _Hercules_ Possess his Arrows: I’m the Son of _Pæan_, Call’d _Philoctetes_, whom two _Grecian_ Chiefs, Join’d with the subtle [6]_Cephalenian_ Prince Basely cast out into this desert Isle; Torn with wild Anguish, with Impressions dire Of Vipers Teeth all burning; thus they left me Forlorn, when hither they from [7]_Chrysa_ sail’d; Tir’d with the Agitation of the Waves, And sunk to Sleep profound; rejoic’d to find This cruel Opportunity, they fled And laid me in the hollow of a Rock; A few small Rags to bind my noisome Wounds, And present Food a little, all they left me. I wak’d! O Heavens! my Son, what Tongue can tell The Sorrows of my Soul? what Floods of Tears Flow’d down my Cheeks! what Sighs! what Groans! To see them sailing off, and not one Soul With solitary mourning _Philoctetes_. No Help, no friendly Care, no kind Relief To my distracting Sores; I look’d around, And found not one Companion but my Pain; Which ne’er remits. Day after Day went on, I saw my little Cave must be supply’d By my own Care, and Hunger be subdu’d By the wild Doves my faithful Arrows slew. What Birds I shot I crawl’d along with Pain To bring them home, and dragg’d my bleeding Foot With Anguish great. When to the limpid Spring I crept to cool my parching Thirst, or went To gather Fewel for my Fire, (the same Affliction seiz’d me as I limp’d along) This by repeated Stroaks of Flints I kindled, But long before the little Seeds of Fire, Scarce visible, became a living Flame. This is my chief Support, my Cave’s best Comfort; It grants me all but a Release from Pain. But now, my Son, ’tis Time I should relate The Nature of this Place. No Sailor steers With willing Sails to these inhuman Shores; No Trade; no Harbours; here no Mortal dwells With hospitable Care to tend a Stranger; None in their Senses will approach this Place. If hither by tempestuous waves they’re driven (As oft it happens in the length of Time) To soft Compassion mov’d, my sad Condition They pity, and some Food and Raiment give; But not a Soul will take me home, but here I’m left to perish in the desert Wilds. For ten long Years of Hunger and of Pain, I fed the Wounds, that feed themselves on me. This the [8]_Atridæ_ did, and this _Ulysses_; For which may Heav’n inflict like Woes on them.

Chorus. Like those by chance who hither sail,
I feel Compassion rise;
Thy Suff’rings force me to bewail,
They pierce my wounded Heart and melt my Eyes.

_Neop._ I am a Witness of thy sad Complaint; The Truth of what you say I cannot doubt; I by Experience know, how violent The Sons of _Atreus_ and _Ulysses_ are.

_Phil._ Have you then felt their curst, destructive Power,
That with a just Resentment you accuse them?

_Neop._ I wish my Passion were with Arms supply’d, That [9]_Sparta_ and _Mycenæ_ both might know, What valiant Heroes _Scyros_ can produce.

_Phil._ Well said, my Son, what is your Cause of Anger?

_Neop._ Thou Son of _Pæan_, I’ll impart it all, Tho’ Words are wanting justly to describe The injur’d _Neoptolemus_, when he Had lost his best Defence, his martial Father.

_Phil._ Alas! proceed no farther ’till I hear
Whether the [10]Son of _Peleus_ be no more.

_Neop._ He fell, but by no mortal hand; they say
It was _Apollo_ sent the fatal Shaft.

_Phil._ Great was the Hand that slew! and great the slain! But now, my Son, I am divided much Between thy Suff’rings and his Death to know Whether to hear thy Griefs, or wail his Fate.

_Neop._ Thy own Misfortunes bring sufficient Pains,
And leave no room to think of any others.

_Phil._ You reason well. Then to yourself proceed,
And let me know the Injuries you bear.

_Neop._ _Ulysses_ and my Tutour _Phœnix_ came Both in one Ship to me, and this their Message; That now my Father was no more, my Help Was requisite to conquer _Troy_; none else Alive could do. For so the Fates decreed. How true or false I shan’t presume to say. With quick Perswasion off I went, but more Desirous far to see my Father’s Body; But saw it not. Yet still Ambition fir’d My gen’rous Soul with glorious Thoughts of Conquest. In two days Time on the [11]_Sigeian_ Shore I landed; wretched was that Shore to me! While the whole Army stood around to pay Their due Respect, and all did loudly swear They saw _Achilles_ still alive in me; But he, alas! was dead; unhappy I Let fall some silent Tears, and so retir’d A while to think of him, and grieve alone. To the _Atridæ_, whom I thought my Friends, I went, demanding my dead Father’s Treasures, Among the rest his Armour; when, alas! How great my Sorrow! this the dismal Answer. “Son of _Achilles_, all the rest is thine; “The Armour is dispos’d of to _Ulysses_. At this Intelligence I griev’d; and wept. At length my Passion struggling broke its way, And thus I spoke; Injurious Prince, who durst Without my Leave dispose of what was mine? Then said _Ulysses_, standing near, they’re mine; “And justly were they given: I sav’d your Sire “From being stript of them and dragg’d him off, “When hostile Foes wou’d make his Coarse a Prey. Now much enrag’d, my swelling Anger burst, And out in dreadful Imprecations flew Upon them all, for such injurious Treatment. _Ulysses_ then advanc’d, suppress’d his Anger; But stung at what he heard, he thus reply’d. _You ran no Risk, but staid behind at Home; Rant as you please, you ne’er shall bear it hence._ Thus injur’d and repuls’d, I homeward sail’d, Spoil’d of my native Right, by one I deem The worst of Men, I mean the base _Ulysses_. But yet I blame the chief Commanders more; The Army and the Civil Pow’r is theirs; Their Orders all obey; when Wrongs are done, It is by their Connivance, or Example. I’ve told you all; whoever hates th’ _Atridæ_, I hold him dear both to the Gods and me.

Chorus. All feeding Mother Earth,
On whom the lofty [12]Mountains stand,
From thee great _Jove_ derives his [13]Birth,
Supported by thy bounteous Hand.
Thou who dost dwell where rich [14]_Pactolus_ shines
With Wealth exhausted from the Golden Mines,
Shall I invoke thy Name
Within that Stream?
And tell what Injuries are done
To _Neoptolemus_, the Son
Of great _Pelides_, that great Man of Fame?
His Armour to _Ulysses_ given,
And he the Son from his own native Right is driven.
Thee, mighty Goddess, we invoke,
Who dost Bull-slaught’ring [15]Lyons Yoke,
And drawn by them in Car-triumphant ride,
Humble th’ _Atridæ_ and pull down their Pride.

-----

Footnote 1:

_Lemnian_ Coast. _Lemnos_ is an Island in the _Ægean_ Sea, South of
_Thrace_, in the Latitude of 41 Deg. now called _Stalimene_ by the
_Turks_: The Form of it is Quadrangular, it is 25 Miles over, which
makes it 100 Miles about.

Footnote 2:

_Melian_ Son of _Pæan_. _Philoctetes_ the _Thessalian_ Son of _Pæan_,
and Companion of _Hercules_.

Footnote 3:

_Pelides._ _Achilles_ the Son of _Peleus_.]

Footnote 4:

Son of _Laertes_. _Ulysses._

Footnote 5:

_Lycomedes_ King of _Scyros_, (one of the _Cyclades_) to whom the
Goddess _Thetis_ gave her Son _Achilles_ in Charge, having stoln him
from his Master _Chiron_, as he was asleep; because she foresaw that
he would never return alive from the Siege of _Troy_. For this Reason
he was kept at the Court of _Lycomedes_, in a Woman’s Dress, among his
Daughters, the better to conceal him. He was at last discover’d by a
Stratagem of _Ulysses_.

Footnote 6:

_Cephalenian_ Prince. _Ulysses._ So call’d from the Island
_Cephalenia_, of which he was King.

Footnote 7:

_Chrysa_, an Island near _Lemnos_.

Footnote 8:

_Atridæ._ _Agamemnon_ and _Menelaus_, the two Sons of _Atreus_. One
was King of _Mycenæ_, and the other of _Sparta_. They were the chief
Commanders of the _Greeks_ who went upon the _Trojan_ Expedition.

Footnote 9:

_Sparta_ and _Mycenæ_. Both Towns of the _Peleponnesus_ in _Greece_.

Footnote 10:

Son of _Peleus_. _Achilles._ _Peleus_ was King of _Thessaly_.

Footnote 11:

_Sigeum_, a Promontory near _Troy_.

Footnote 12:

_Orea_, or Mountains according to Mythologists were said to be
Daughters of the Goddess _Terra_, or Earth.

Footnote 13:

_Jupiter_ was born in _Crete_.

Footnote 14:

_Pactolus_, a River in _Lydia_, which has its Rise from the Mountain
_Tmolus_ famous for Golden Sands.

Footnote 15:

_Cybele_, who was the same with _Terra_, or the Earth, had her Chariot
drawn by Lyons.

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SCENE II.

_Phil._ Strangers, ye seem to bear the Marks of Sorrow, And I perceive your Sentiments and mine Concerning the _Atridæ_, and _Ulysses_, Are both the same: As for his Part, I know His artful, false, disguis’d, deluding Tongue, To Truth and Justice is a perfect Stranger: At which I wonder not, but much admire How braver [16]_Ajax_ cou’d allow such Wrongs.

_Neop._ _Ajax_, my Friend, is dead, or had he Life,
I shou’d not thus be made a shameful Prey.

_Phil._ And is the great, the valiant _Ajax_ dead?

_Neop._ He now no longer breathes in Heav’ns fair Light.

_Phil._ Wretched am I--There’s [17]_Diomede_ alive And curs’d _Ulysses_, sprung from [18]_Sisyphus_, And both unworthy of the Breath they draw.

_Neop._ Both live and flourish, both in Pomp appear,
Peculiar Fav’rites of the _Grecian_ Host.

_Phil._ Where is my good, my old, my faithful Friend, [19]_Nestor_ of _Pylos_? for he well foresaw Their dark Designs, their base, their treach’rous Deeds.

_Neop._ Loaded with Woes, his only Son is dead,
_Antilochus_; the Comfort of his Age.

_Phil._ Two dismal Evils you have told, I hear Them both with much Affliction; O my Heart! What shall I think? The brave are dead and gone; _Ulysses_ lives! who well deserv’d to die.

_Neop._ He wisely fights; but even the wise sometimes
Perceive their deepest Counsels overthrown.

_Phil._ Tell me, I pray thee by the Gods, where was
Thy Father’s dearest Friend [20]_Patroclus_ then.

_Neop._ Slain with the rest. Observe this one Remark, _Mars_ ever singles out the brave to die; Cowards are safe; he scorns their panting Breast.

_Phil._ I grant it’s true; and for this Cause I shall Enquiry make for one unworthy Wretch, Whose Tongue had Words and Cunning at command, In what Condition’s he?---- ----

_Neop._ ---- ---- ----_Ulysses_ sure
You mean; this Character suits none but him.

_Phil._ No. One [21]_Thersites_ clamorous and loud,
In spight of Opposition; does he live?

_Neop._ I saw him not, but heard he was alive.

_Phil._ ’Tis like, because no Evil yet is dead. The Gods to me seem Guardians to the base, And take a Pleasure to preserve from Death The false and fraudulent; the just and good They snatch away from hence. What shall we think Of this? or how give Praise to them? who shew So much Regard to wicked Men their Fav’rites.

_Neop._ As for myself, I’ll freely speak my Thoughts, Thou Son of _Pæan_, I resolve to live Remote from _Troy_, and the _Atridæ_ both; Where wicked Men with Pow’r oppress the Good, Where Virtue is destroy’d, and Vice commands. As for my self, I cannot love such Men; And rocky _Scyros_ shall hereafter be My best Content----There shall I joy to live. Now to my Ship I go, dear Son of _Pæan_, Farewel; with all my Soul farewel; and may The Gods remove thy Pain ev’n as thou wilt; For go we must, whenever Heav’n is pleas’d To send a fair and favourable Wind.

_Phil._ And do ye now prepare?---- ----

_Neop._ ---- ---- ----No Time we lose;
The moment that the Winds invite, we go.

_Phil._ O! for thy Father’s, and thy Mother’s sake, For all that can be dear to thee at home, I beg, beseech, and pray you not to leave A poor, forsaken, solitary Man, In all the dire Calamities you see; And such as I already have related; But place me any where, in any manner. I know a wretched Burthen that I am, However bear me to the generous Soul; What’s base is hateful; Goodness is his Glory. If I be left behind, it brings Disgrace; But if you take me off, it brings you Honour. If I shall get alive to _Oeta_’s Land, ’Tis but the trouble of one single Day; Then dare to take me, throw me where you please; Or by the Pump, or Stern, or Prow, my Friend, Or any part, where I shall give no Pain. By _Jove_, who over suppliant Men presides, I beg you to consent, my Son; I fall Down prostrate, and in Tears embrace your Knees; A poor, lame, helpless, miserable Man. Ah! leave me not alone, where not a Print Of human Foot is seen; but save me hence; Whether you take me to your native home, Or land me on [22]_Eubea_’s Coast; from thence To [23]_Oeta_ I’ve not far to go; not far To the _Trachinian_ Hills, where [24]_Spercheus_ winds It’s lovely Stream; there let my Father see me. Tho’ long since much I fear he’s dead; for oft By many Passengers I sent, to beg He’d send a Ship to take me safely home; But he is either dead, or they perhaps Slighted my Message; or they pass’d him by. Now is my last Resort, be thou at once Conductor both and Messenger; O save, And have Compassion, and consider well How frail are human Things; how much expos’d To Change! This day the happy Man may be Cast down from all his Joy; then he who stands Without the Storm, shou’d cast a tender Eye On the poor shipwreck’d Man, and bring Relief; ’Tis in the midst of Happiness we shou’d Live on our Guard, for fear of a Surprize.

Chorus. O Prince, for once be kind,
Let him Compassion find.
He told you all his dreadful Woes,
Which Heaven avert from any Friend of mine.
Then let the Joy be thine,
To make th’ _Atridæ_ know
He shall obtain
Release from Pain,
And ev’ry haughty Foe.
Then haste away and hoist your Sails,
Make haste to catch the flying Gales,
And waft him o’er
Unto his native Shore,
Lest Heav’n pursues you if my Counsel fails.

-----

Footnote 16:

_Ajax_, the Son of _Telamon_ and _Hesione_, accounted the next Hero to
_Achilles_ among the _Greeks_.

Footnote 17:

_Diomede_, Son of _Tydeus_, next in Prowess to _Ajax_. _Homer_ makes
him wound _Mars_ and _Venus_.

Footnote 18:

_Sisyphus_, a great Robber in _Attica_, the Grandfather of _Ulysses_.

Footnote 19:

_Nestor._ An experienc’d General and Orator, Son of _Neleus_; So
excellent in Wisdom, that _Agamemnon_ said, if he had ten such in his
Army, _Troy_ would soon be conquer’d.

Footnote 20:

_Patroclus_, Son of _Menætius_. When he was young having kill’d one of
his Playfellows by accident, was forc’d to fly his Country, and go to
_Pthia_ in _Thessaly_, where he was receiv’d by _Tydeus_, and bred up
with his Son _Achilles_ under _Chiron_: This made him and _Achilles_
such inseparable Companions and Friends.

Footnote 21:

_Thersites._ The most deformed of all the _Greeks_. He is painted by
_Homer_ in a most ridiculous Manner.

Footnote 22:

_Eubea_, an Island in the _Ægean_ Sea, now called _Negrepont_.

Footnote 23:

_Oeta_, a Mountain on the Borders of _Thessaly_. _Trachin_ a Town near
it, whence the Hills are called _Trachinian_.

Footnote 24:

_Spercheus._ A River which runs with a rapid Course from a Mountain in
_Thessaly_.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

SCENE III.

_Neop._ Take care you do not now disguise your Thoughts, And soon again with Violence exclaim, When he no longer can suppress his Anguish.

_Chorus._ Falshood be far from me, such foul Disgrace
You shall not justly have to charge me with.

_Neop._ It wou’d be scandalous and base in me, To be less willing to assist this Stranger; Then sail we must away, let him prepare With Expedition; for I shan’t deny To take him in my Ship, and may the Gods Propitious prove, and safely fill our Sails.

_Phil._ O friendly Day to me! O best of Men! Ye dearest Mariners, how shall I make Acknowledgments? or how can I express What Obligations bind me to you all? But let us go, my Son, to visit now My little homeless Home, and there you’ll see What Life I led; how strong my Heart to bear Such Hardships; that the Place wherein I lay Wou’d give your Eyes offence; yet I, alas! Was by Necessity inur’d to this.

_Chorus._ Hold, let us see; two Men advance this Way, The one belongs to thee, t’other I know Him not, but hither they approach. Before We go, ’tis fit we shou’d enquire their Business.

_Enter the_ Merchant.

_Mer._ Son of _Achilles_, here by Chance I came; And unexpected find thee, by this Man Inform’d; for he, it seems, with two Men more, Guarded thy Vessel. Sailing right from _Troy_ And homewards bound to [25]_Peparethos_ fam’d For Vines, I heard these Men, prepar’d to sail, Were thine; I straightway then resolv’d to hail The Crew, and not to pass before I shou’d Acquaint you, what you little think; The _Greeks_ Have form’d Designs against you, which not long Will so be call’d, for soon you’ll find them Facts.

_Neop._ My Friend, I thank thee for thy Care; I shou’d Be base indeed, were you not dear to me For this Intelligence. What new Designs Concerning me? What have the _Greeks_ resolv’d?

_Mer._ Old _Phœnix_ and the Sons of _Theseus_ in
Pursuit of thee set sail----

_Neop._ ---- ---- ----Do they intend By Force of Arms, or Reason, to subdue And bring me back?----

_Mer._ ---- ----I know not which they mean;
But this Intelligence I thought was proper.

_Neop._ Will _Phœnix_ and his Men, to gratify
The base _Atridæ_, turn their Force on me?

_Mer._ They have resolv’d so far, they won’t delay.

_Neop._ Why not _Ulysses_, Was it Fear detain’d him?

_Mer._ He and the Son of _Diomede_ are bent Upon another Prey, they hoist their Sails The very day I launch’d my Ship from thence.

_Neop._ Against what Man is this _Ulysses_ sent?

_Mer._ A certain Man--But whisper me who’s this?

_Neop._ This is the famous _Philoctetes_, Friend.

_Mer._ Say not a Word--But hence--begone in Haste;--
Fly from this Island with your utmost Speed.

_Phil._ What does he say, my Son? what private Gain
Does he propose by whisp’ring thus of me?

_Neop._ I know not what he means. He must himself
Explain it, in the Presence of us all.

_Mer._ Son of _Achilles_, do not you betray me, For thus disclosing what I shou’d conceal; Because I’m much indebted to the _Greeks_, Bound by the strongest Ties of Gratitude; For I was poor, and they reliev’d my Want’s.

_Phil._ To the _Atridæ_ I’m an Enemy---- But here’s my greatest Friend, because his Hate For them with mine agrees; and now you’re come, Sincerely act, and do not ought conceal That may be grateful for my Soul to know.

_Mer._ See what you do, my Friend----

_Neop._ ---- ---- ----I’ve thought on’t well.

_Mer._ The Blame shall all be thine---- ----

_Neop._ ---- ----On what Account?

_Mer._ Once more, my Friend, I must acquaint you, That The Son of _Tydeus_ and _Ulysses_ come Against this Person, sworn by Force to take him, Or by Perswasion sooth him back again; This from _Ulysses_ all the _Grecians_ heard; For none beside had so much Confidence.

_Neop._ What mov’d th’ _Atridæ_, after so long Time, To have a Thought of banish’d _Philoctetes_? Whence this Desire for him? was it because They fear’d the Vengeance of th’ offended Gods?

_Mer._ I’ll tell thee all; (perhaps you heard it not)

A Royal Prophet, Son of aged _Priam_, Call’d _Helenus_, in dead of Night betray’d By false _Ulysses_, (that detested Man!) Was led in Chains, and brought a glorious Prey By him presented to the _Greeks_; he told All his Prophetick Soul cou’d then foresee Concerning _Troy_; That it wou’d ne’er be conquer’d, Except they brought this Person, whom you see Upon this Island; which _Laertes’_ Son No sooner hear’d, but he straight undertook The Task, and said he’d bring him to the _Greeks_ With free Consent, or else against his Will; If not, he wou’d engage to lose his Head. Now you have heard it all, I urge your Haste, And his, and any else whom you regard.

_Phil._ Alas for me! did he, who’s stain’d all thro’ With Crimes, engage to bring me back again? He might as well perswade me back from Death To Life, as basely as his Father came.

_Mer._ These Things I know not, but I must from hence
On Board; may some good God conduct you both.

_Phil._ Is not this harden’d Impudence, that he Shou’d hope by flatt’ring Speeches to prevail, And take me to the _Greeks_? I’d sooner hear The Viper which depriv’d me of my Foot. But he will say and dare do ev’ry Thing; And now I know for certain he will come. But let us go, my Son, that we may be Divided by a distant Sea from him. Let us be gone--a seasonable Haste, When Labour’s over, brings a pleasing Rest.

_Neop._ How can we go when Heav’n’s against our Sails,
Adverse the Wind, commanding us to stay?

_Phil._ No Wind’s against us when we fly from Evils.

_Neop._ It blows against their Sails as much as ours.

_Phil._ By adverse Winds a Pyrate ne’er is hindred,
When forth he sallies for his lawless Plunder.

_Neop._ Since you request it, let us go, and take
Whatever Things are needful for your Voyage.

_Phil._ Some I shall want, but they are very few.

_Neop._ What can you need which I cannot supply?

_Phil._ Some Herbs, whose Virtues mitigate my Pain,
And often put my restless Wounds to sleep.

_Neop._ Well--bring them out----what other Things beside?

_Phil._ My Bow--Alas I had almost forgot!
And left it here behind a Prey to him.

_Neop._ Is this the celebrated Bow you bear?

_Phil._ The very same; my Hand no other holds.

_Neop._ Give me a nearer View, and let me take
It in my Hands, and pay it Adoration.

_Phil._ This, and whatever else I have, my Son,
Whatever pleases you, you may command.

_Neop._ I love thee well, and thus I shew my Love; If Heav’n permits to touch thy Bow, I will; If not, refuse me; if a wrong Request.

_Phil._ You speak religiously, my Son, you may-- You who have brought me to the Sun’s fair Light, To see the sweet _Oetean_ Fields again, My aged Father, and my dearest Friends; Who rais’d me up, o’erwhelm’d by envious Foes; You shall, and welcome, take it in your Hands; But then return it safely to it’s Owner. Then may you boast that you’re the only Man, Whom for your Virtue, and for that alone, So much I’ve honour’d, as to touch this Bow; ’Twas giv’n to me for human Acts; for which I’m pleas’d to see so good a Friend enjoy it. _Whoever knows for Benefits receiv’d To make a just Return, that Man I deem A Friend beyond the Value of all Treasure._

_Neop._ ---- ----’Tis Time to enter in thy Cave.

_Phil._ ---- ---- ---- ----And thee
I must entreat to go; for I shall want thy Help.

ANTISTROPHICA

STROPHE I.

Chorus. I heard of those eternal Pains,
Which rack’d [26]_Ixion_ feels,
Fast bound by Adamantine Chains
To ever-turning Wheels.

Doom’d to this Fate by angry _Jove_,
For tempting to embrace
The Queen of Heav’n with impious Love;
His Torments never cease.

But never did I hear or see
A Man so rack’d before,
As _Philoctetes_ seems to me,
What Suff’rings can be more?

He never did an Act was wrong,
But Justice still maintain’d;
I wonder much that he so long,
Such Torments has sustain’d.

Tell me the Cause, ye angry Pow’rs,
In Fortune’s stormy Seas,
He’s tost so many tedious Hours,
Without one Moment’s Ease.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Expos’d to all the Storms that blow,
From whence he cannot fly;
And not a Friend to feel his Woe
Returning Sigh for Sigh.

Not one the healing Herb applies
To sooth his angry Wound;
But torn with Anguish, there he lies
Extended on the Ground.

The Instant that his Pains abate,
He like an Infant creeps,
To find a Plant to quell that Heat,
And thus the Venom sleeps.

STROPHE II.

Not from the sacred Earth his Foods
Nor from the Tiller’s Care,
Does he recruit his streaming Blood,
But from the Bird-flown Air.

When soaring Fowls advance this Way
He lets his Arrows fly;
To certain Death the feather’d Prey
Falls flutt’ring from the Sky.

Ah! wretched Soul, thy Fate was hard,
To live ten Years in Pain,
To be from joyful Wine debarr’d
To drink the tastless Rain.

ANTISTROPHE II.

His Fortune’s now revers’d we see,
A gen’rous Youth’s inclin’d
To waft him Home; to set him free;
And ease his tortur’d Mind.

Lo! to the _Melian_ Nymphs he’s gone,
To _Sperchius’_ vagrant Streams,
To _Oeta_’s Mount where _Jove_’s great Son
To Heav’n aspir’d in Flames.

_Neop._ Come, gently move along; what means this Silence?
Why stand you thus confounded in amaze?

_Phil._ Alas! alas! alas!---- ---- ----

_Neop._ ---- ---- ----What mean these Sounds?

_Phil._ Nothing that’s worth Complaint; my Friend proceed.

_Neop._ Perhaps our walking may increase your Pains.

_Phil._ Not in the least, I rather feel my Wound
Much lighter since our Walk. Ye heav’nly Powers! (_aside_)

_Neop._ Why do you then invoke the heav’nly Powers?

_Phil._ To be propitious, and attend our Voyage.
O Heav’ns, what Pains I feel!---- ----

_Neop._ ---- ---- ----What Suff’rings now? Why are you silent? For you seem to me By Starts and Groans your Torture to confess.

_Phil._ My Son, I’m lost; no longer I conceal The Malady; it wounds my very Soul; It pierces thro’ and thro’; O wretched me! Murther’d! undone! and lost beyond Redress. O dismal, racking, burning, poison’d Pains! Reach me a Sword, my Son, an Ax, a Dagger; Cut off my Foot this instant; spare it not.

_Neop._ What new Addition do you feel, that makes
You roar with hideous Exclamation loud.

_Phil._ You know, my Son---- ----

_Neop._ ----Not I----

_Phil._ You know indeed.

_Neop._ What do you mean?

_Phil._ ----I know not what I mean.

_Neop._ Why know you not?

_Phil._ ---- ---- ----I cannot speak for Pain.

_Neop._ Dreadful the shooting of thy Wound indeed!

_Phil._ Dreadful beyond Expression; O! my Friend,
Have some Compassion on the Woes I feel.

_Neop._ What shall I do to give thee Ease?----

_Phil._ ---- ---- ---- ----Ah! don’t Forsake me for the piteous Moans I make. By Fits and Starts, my Torments come and go Like Vagabonds, to feed; and then they vanish.

_Neop._ Unhappy Mortal, I lament thy Fate, And all the lamentable Shocks thou bearest-- Shall I support you as you walk along?

_Phil._ Support me not, but hold my Bow a-while, Until the present Torment which I feel Abates, and keep it safe; for when my Pains Are at the full, I sink to sleep; no means Beside can give me Ease; then sleep I must, And let me lie from all Disturbance free; If in that Interval my Foes shou’d come, By all the Gods I must conjure thee, not To part it from thy Hands, by Will, or Force, Or any Stratagem may be contriv’d To get it from thee; for on this depends Thy Safety, and thy humble Suppliant’s Life.

_Neop._ Fear not, thy Caution I’ll observe--No Man Alive shall touch this Bow, except thy self, And me--Give it--May Fortune guard us both.

_Phil._ Take it--Good luck attend thee--But adore The Goddess _Envy_ first, lest the same Fate Pursues thee which annoy’d its former Masters.

_Neop._ Ye Gods! grant my Request; may happy Winds,
When ye think fit, convey us home with Safety.

_Phil._ I fear your Pray’rs are all in vain, my Son; The boiling Blood ’stills from my burning Sole. Some Change much worse I dread, alas! alas! O wretched Foot, what Evils do you feed! Now, now it tears, now to my Soul it comes, Attacks with greatest Force. O wretched me! Bear with my loud Complaints, and fly not hence, My Friends, O fly not from my dismal Groans. My _Cephalenian_ Friend, I wish thy Breast Felt all my Grief at once. O _Agamemnon_, And you his Brother-Leader _Menelaus_, How would you bear these Wounds I feel, so long? Ah me what num’rous Evils I endure! O Death! Death! Death! whom ev’ry Day I call; Will you not come and end my loathsome Life? Thou generous Youth in whom true Pity dwells, Take me and throw me in the _Lemnian_ Flames; There burn me all, do me that friendly Office, Which I did for the Son of _Jove_, when he Bequeath’d these Arrows, which to thee I’ve given. What do you say? ah! speak, and be not silent; Where’s thy Attention? where’s thy wand’ring Mind.

_Neop._ I grieve long since and all thy Pains deplore.

_Phil._ But, O my Son, bear; bear my Griefs a-while; They’re short, and violent, and quickly gone; Therefore I beg you leave me not alone.

_Neop._ I shall not leave thee.

_Phil._ No?

_Neop._ For certain not.

_Phil._ I shall not by an Oath engage thy Faith.

_Neop._ It is not fit I leave thee behind.

_Phil._ Pledge me your Hand you’ll stay.

_Neop._ I do.

_Phil._ O place me there, there place me.

_Neop._ In what Place?

_Phil._ Above.

_Neop._ What makes you wildly look around.

_Phil._ O let me go from hence.

_Neop._ Where let thee go?

_Phil._ Let me, I say.

_Neop._ I will not let thee go.

_Phil._ One Touch is Murder.

_Neop._ Then I let thee go.
Hast thou recover’d yet thy perfect Senses?

_Phil._ O Earth receive me sinking to thy Bosom.
I can’t sustain myself one Moment longer.

_Neop._ Poor Man! a sudden Slumber seals his Eyes! His drooping Head upon his Breast is fallen! The dewy Sweat distils from all his Pores; And bursting Gore streams from his tortur’d Foot. O let us leave him now to Rest and Quiet; Let him forget himself in Sleep a while.

-----

Footnote 25:

_Peparethos._ One of the Cluster of Islands in the _Ægean_ Sea called
the _Cyclades_.

Footnote 26:

_Ixion._ After he had murther’d his Father-in-law _Deioneus_ being
much rack’d on that Account, _Jupiter_ in Compassion translated him to
Heaven, where he basely attempted _Juno_; for which, _Jupiter_ had him
fix’d to a Wheel in Hell, which was to turn round for ever.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

SCENE IV.

EPODICA.

STROPHE I.

Chorus. Soft Sleep, thou Stranger to all Pain,
Breathe on him with thy softest Gale;
Thou Prince of a most happy Reign,
Upon his Eye-Lids gently steal.
Keep off the bright extended Rays of Light,
And gather all the gloomy Shades of Night.
Come hither thou Physician sure,
Thou the universal Cure.

ANTISTROPHE.

Resolve, my Son, what you must do,
Why are you wav’ring in Suspense?
Our first Designs we shou’d pursue,
At once surprize and bear him hence.
The wisest Counsels still we see
Depend on Opportunity.
And now this favourable Hour
Entirely puts him in our Pow’r.

_Neop._ Tho’ fast asleep he hears us not, in vain We take his Bow, and leave him here behind; The Crown is due to him, the Gods desire That we shou’d take him with us, but to boast A vain Attempt will bring us foul Disgrace.

ANTISTROPHE.

Chorus. These Things are to the Gods alone,
To their all-searching Wisdom known;
But in your Answer tell in short,
And fix upon our last Resort;
For Pains th’ afflicted wakeful keep,
They only have a sleepless Sleep.
Whatever Counsel’s best to thee,
That Counsel is the best for me;
But see it be in secret done,
You know the Man I fix upon.
If your Opinion be the same
With mine, to prosecute the Scheme,
You’ll find what Difficulty lies
In all the Projects of the wise.

EPODOS.

We cannot have a fairer Wind,
Behold you see the Man is blind!
Helpless in Darkness there he lies;
Nocturnal Sleep has clos’d his Eyes.
No Motion, Hand, or Foot, or Breath,
He lies all silent there as Death;
But now he seems to look around,
And murmur out a deadly Sound.
Our Bus’ness is to seize him here;
Success is to be void of Fear.

_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.