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.