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    Philoctetes
    Philoctetes
    Philoctetes
    Ebook74 pages40 minutes

    Philoctetes

    By Sophocles

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    About this ebook

    Sophocles was one of the three ancient Greek tragedians whose plays have survived.  Sophocles wrote over 100 plays but only 7 have survived including the famous Oedipus trilogy.  This edition of Philoctetes includes a table of contents.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCharles River Editors
    Release dateMar 22, 2018
    ISBN9781531283483
    Philoctetes
    Author

    Sophocles

    Sophocles is one of three ancient Greek tragedians whose plays have survived. His first plays were written later than or contemporary with those of Aeschylus, and earlier than or contemporary with those of Euripides.

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      Book preview

      Philoctetes - Sophocles

      PHILOCTETES

      ..................

      Sophocles

      KYPROS PRESS

      Thank you for reading. If you enjoy this book, please leave a review or connect with the author.

      All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

      Copyright © 2016 by Sophocles

      Interior design by Pronoun

      Distribution by Pronoun

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Philoctetes

      CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY

      SCENE: A lonely region on the shore of Lemnos, before a steep cliff in which is the entrance to Philoctetes’ cave.

      PHILOCTETES

      ..................

      Translated by Thomas Francklin

      CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY

      Ulysses, King of Ithaca

      Neoptolemus, son of Achilles

      Philoctetes, son of Poeas and Companion of Hercules

      A Spy

      Hercules

      Chorus, composed of the companions of Ulysses and Neoptolemus

      SCENE: A LONELY REGION ON THE SHORE OF LEMNOS, BEFORE A STEEP CLIFF IN WHICH IS THE ENTRANCE TO PHILOCTETES’ CAVE.

      [Ulysses, Neoptolemus and an attendant enter.]

      Ulysses

      At length, my noble friend, thou bravest son

      Of a brave father — father of us all,

      The great Achilles — we have reached the shore

      Of sea-girt Lemnos, desert and forlorn,

      Where never tread of human step is seen,

      Or voice of mortal heard, save his alone,

      Poor Philoctetes, Poeas’ wretched son,

      Whom here I left; for such were my commands

      From Grecia’s chiefs, when by his fatal wound

      Oppressed, his groans and execrations dreadful

      Alarmed our hosts, our sacred rites profaned,

      And interrupted holy sacrifice.

      But why should I repeat the tale? The time

      Admits not of delay. We must not linger,

      Lest he discover our arrival here,

      And all our purposed fraud to draw him hence

      Be ineffectual. Lend me then thy aid.

      Surveying round thee, canst thou see a rock

      With double entrance — to the sun’s warm rays

      In winter open, and in summer’s heat

      Giving free passage to the welcome breeze?

      A little to the left there is a fountain

      Of living water, where, if yet he breathes,

      He slakes his thirst. If aught thou seest of this

      Inform me; so shall each to each impart

      Counsel most fit, and serve our common cause.

      Neoptolemus[leaving Ulysses a little behind him]

      If I mistake not, I behold a cave,

      E’en such as thou describst.

      Ulysses

      Dost thou? which way?

      Neoptolemus

      Yonder it is; but no path leading thither,

      Or trace of human footstep.

      Ulysses

      In his cell

      A chance but he hath lain down to rest:

      Look if he hath not.

      Neoptolemus[advancing to the cave]

      Not a creature there.

      Ulysses

      Nor food, nor mark of household preparation?

      Neoptolemus

      A rustic bed of scattered leaves.

      Ulysses

      What more?

      Neoptolemus

      A wooden bowl, the work of some rude hand,

      With a few sticks for fuel.

      Ulysses

      This is all

      His little treasure here.

      Neoptolemus

      Unhappy man!

      Some linen for his wounds.

      Ulysses

      This must be then

      His place of habitation; far from hence

      He cannot roam; distempered as he is,

      It were impossible. He is but gone

      A little way for needful food, or herb

      Of power to ’suage and mitigate his pain,

      Wherefore despatch this servant to some place

      Of observation, whence he may espy

      His every motion, lest he

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