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Neoptolemus comes out from the cave, followed by Philoctetes.
Neoptolemus
730 Come now - why are you suddenly so silent?
Why do you stand dumfounded without cause?
Philoctetes
Ah ah ah ah!
Neoptolemus
What is it?
Nothing much, my son: go on.
Neoptolemus
735 Are you in pain from your habitual illness?
Philoctetes
No - I am certain it is better now.
O gods!
Neoptolemus
Why do you call the gods with such loud moans?
Philoctetes
To come to me and soothe me and preserve me-
740ah ah ah ah!
Neoptolemus
What are you suffering from? Come, speak: do not
be silent - you are clearly in great pain.
Philoctetes
Child, it is killing me: I can no longer
hide my distress from you - oh oh! - it comes,
745it comes! wretch that I am! the pain, the pain!
Child, it is killing me: child, it devours me!
Ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh!
Child, if you have a sword at hand, I pray you,
in God's name, take it, strike this foot of mine,
750now, cut it off, now - never mind my life -
come child!
Neoptolemus
But what has happened now to cause this outburst
of sudden screaming and groaning that I hear?
Philoctetes
You know, my son.
Neoptolemus
755 What is it?
Philoctetes
Child, you know.
Neoptolemus
I do not know.
Philoctetes
How can you not know? Oh!
Neoptolemus
Frightful must be the burden of your illness!
Philoctetes
760 Frightful beyond the power of speech: have pity!
Neoptolemus
What can I do?
Philoctetes
Do not forsake me in fear:
this comes upon me at times, when it has finished
wandering elsewhere.
Neoptolemus
765 Oh unhappy man,
truly unhappy with these many pains!
Shall I take hold of you and give my hand?
Philoctetes
No, no - but take this bow of mine, and hold it
just as you asked before, until the pangs
770from the disease which pains me now die down,
Preserve it for me; guard it well - for sleep
will take me when this agony has passed,
and only then will free me: you must let me
slumber in peace. But if in the meantime
775these men should come, I pray you, by the gods,
do not by any means, willing or not,
give them the bow, or you will kill yourself
and me, who am your suppliant, together,
Neoptolemus
Trust my discretion, for no hands will touch it
780but yours and mine: so give it in good faith.
Philoctetes
Take it, my son, and pray it may not bring
The women of Trachis and Philoctetes. A new translation in verse by Robert Torrance. Houghton Mifflin. 1966.
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