Philoctetes

Thou worst of men, thou vile artificer Of fraud most infamous, what hast thou done? How have I been deceived? Dost thou not blush To look upon me, to behold me thus Beneath thy feet imploring? Base betrayer! To rob me of my bow, the means of life, The only means- give 'em, restore 'em to me! Do not take all Alas Alas! he hears me not, Nor deigns to speak, but casts an angry look That says I never shall be free again. O mountains, rivers, rocks, and savage herds! To you I speak- to you alone I now Must breathe my sorrows; you are wont to hear My sad complaints, and I will tell you all That I have suffered from Achilles' son, Who, bound by solemn oath to bear me hence To my dear native soil, now sails for Troy. The perjured wretch first gave his plighted hand, Then stole the sacred arrows of my friend, The son of Jove, the great Alcides; those He means to show the Greeks, to snatch me hence And boast his prize, as if poor Philoctetes, This empty shade, were worthy of his arm. Had I been what I was, he ne'er had thus Subdued me, and e'en now to fraud alone He owes the conquest. I have been betrayed! Give me my arms again, and be thyself Once more. Oh, speak! Thou wilt not? Then I'm lost. O my poor hut! again I come to thee Naked and destitute of food; once more Receive me, here to die; for now, no longer Shall my swift arrow reach the flying prey, Or on the mountains pierce the wandering herd: I shall myself afford a banquet now To those I used to feed on- they the hunters, And I their easy prey; so shall the blood Which I so oft have shed be paid by mine; And all this too from him whom once I deemed Stranger to fraud nor capable of ill; And yet I will not curse thee till I know Whether thou still retainst thy horrid purpose, Or dost repent thee of it; if thou dost not, Destruction wait thee!