SCENE I.

Enter Ulysses.

Ul.

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.

2Our 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.

3Ul. 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,

4Sail’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.

5Neop. 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.

6ANTISTROPHICA

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?

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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.

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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?

9There’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?

10Neop. ⸺⸺ 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,

11And 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.

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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;

13That 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.

14You 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.

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