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I believe that I, too, pity you, son of Poeas, as much as your former visitors. Neoptolemus
And I myself attest your accusations,  for I know their truth through my own experience with the wickedness of the Atreids and the force of Odysseus. Philoctetes
What, do you also have a grievance against the accursed sons of Atreus, a cause for anger at some mistreatment? Neoptolemus
If only I might one day be allowed to fulfill my heart's rage by the deeds of my hand,  so that Mycenae might learn, and Sparta, that Scyros also is a mother of brave men! Philoctetes
Well said, son! Now what is the reason that you have come complaining against them with this fierce wrath? Neoptolemus
I will tell you—and yet it is hard to tell—  the outrage that I suffered from them upon my arrival there. For when fate decreed that Achilles should die— Philoctetes
Ah, me! Tell me no more, until I first know this—is the son of Peleus dead? Neoptolemus
Dead—not by a mortal hand, but by a god's.  He was brought down, as men say, by the arrow of Phoebus. Philoctetes
Well, noble alike are the slayer and the slain. But I am at a loss to know, son, whether I should first inquire into the wrong done you, or mourn the dead. Neoptolemus
Your own sorrows, I think, are enough  for you, unhappy man, without mourning for those of your neighbor. Philoctetes
You speak the truth. Therefore tell me again what happened to you, and how they wronged you.
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