Philoctetes

Sophocles

Sophocles the plays and fragments, Part 4: The Philoctetes. Jebb, Richard Claverhouse, Sir, translator. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1898.

  1. No, indeed no. I think it is better now.—Gods, oh!
Neoptolemus
  1. Why do you groan like this and call on the gods?
Philoctetes
  1. That they may come to me with power to save and soothe.—Ai! Ai!
Neoptolemus
  1. What troubles you? Speak, do not keep so silent. It is plain enough that you are suffering somehow.
Philoctetes
  1. I am destroyed, boy—I can never conceal my suffering when you are close. Ah! Ah! It shoots through me, shoots straight through! Oh, the pain,the misery!
  2. I am destroyed, boy—I am devoured! Ah, by the gods I beg you, if you have a sword ready to hand, strike at my ankle—cut it off now! Do not spare my life!
  3. Quick, boy, quick!
Neoptolemus
  1. What new thing has come on you so suddenly that you wail for yourself with these loud shrieks?
Philoctetes
  1. You know, son.
Neoptolemus
  1. What is it?
Philoctetes
  1. You know, boy.