Part 1

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THE PHILOCTETES OF _SOPHOCLES_.

_Translated from the GREEK._

_Graiis ingenium, Graiis dedit ore rotundo Musa loqui, præter laudem nullius avaris._

HOR.

_DUBLIN_: Printed by J. HYDE and E. DOBSON, for R. OWEN Bookseller in _Skinner-Row_. M.DCC.XXV.

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TO THE

RIGHT HONOURABLE

THE

Lady_ CARTERET_.

Madam,

With great Submission I present and dedicate the following Translation to Your Ladyship, having no other way of shewing my Gratitude, for the great Honour _My Lord Lieutenant_ did me by His Presence, when my Scholars acted a Play of _Sophocles_ in _Greek_. I have made choice of the same Author to entertain _Your Ladyship_, and he now makes his Appearance before You in plain _English_, but much to his disadvantage, which I hope will be excused, since I attempted it for the Reason which I already mentioned.

The Translation I have made is as close as the Propriety of our Language will admit, and _Your Ladyship_ will observe in it at least some Traces of the Author’s Genius. But as the lowest Painter in drawing _Your Ladyship_’s Picture, would be able to discover, that he at least designed to represent something extraordinary, and the best must needs fall infinitely short of the Original; So I cannot but hope that _Your Ladyship_ will observe in this Translation some faint Lineaments of the Author’s great Genius, superior to that of all modern Tragedians. And I cannot but fear, that you will easily perceive how unable I am to do him Justice, thro’ my own Defects, as well as those of our own Language. And this would still be worse, if _Your Ladyship_ should be so cruel to desire _My Lord Lieutenant_ to criticize upon these Papers, His Excellency will detect, and expose me in every Line, and convince You, in a few Minutes, that I am as far unable to express that Sublime in _Sophocles_, as I should be able to describe the Virtues of Your Ladyship, or His Excellency, which is the only Cause that I pass them over in Silence in this Dedication.

I have added a few Notes, to explain some Passages that depend upon the Fabulous Stories of the antient _Greeks_, which perhaps may have escaped _Your Ladyship_’s Reading.

I humbly entreat _Your Ladyship_’s Pardon for this my Presumption, and remain with all Respect

_Your Ladyship_’s

_Most Obedient,

Humble Servant_,

THOMAS SHERIDAN.

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The ARGUMENT.

To give some Light into the following Tragedy, it will not be amiss to give a short Account of the Persons concerned in it, that by knowing their Characters beforehand, the Reader may better judge of the Author’s Performance. The first who appears upon the Stage is ULYSSES, of whom I shall give the following short History.

ULYSSES was King of _Ithaca_, _Cephalenia_, and _Dulichium_, (Islands in the _Ionian_ Sea). _Homer_ makes him remarkable for his great Experience, Eloquence, Counsel, and Skill in Military Affairs. And likewise very famous for his Stratagems. It was he who detected _Achilles_, disguised among the Daughters of _Lycomedes_; It was he who contriv’d the bringing of _Philoctetes_ and his Arrows against _Troy_; who stole off the Ashes of _Laomedon_; the _Palladium_, or Image of _Minerva_; who killed _Rhesus_ King of _Thrace_, and brought away his Horses, before they drank of the River _Xanthus_. For all these Conditions were necessary to be fullfilled; or _Troy_ could never be taken.

NEOPTOLEMUS in the Original signifies a young Warriour; his true Name was _Pyrrhus_. He was the Son of _Achilles_. A young Man of strict Virtue and Honour, and one of great Tenderness and Humanity; but at the same Time he was ambitious. This was the only weak Part where ULYSSES could attack him, which we find he took Advantage of, with great Art and Subtlety. Yet, what gives us great Pleasure in the _Catastrophe_ of this Tragedy, we find, upon the moving Exclamations and Complaints of PHILOCTETES, that his good Nature, and the great Sense he had of Justice, prevails over all other Considerations.

As for the CHORUS it is the only thing unaccountable in the antient Tragedians. To examine nicely into the whole Conduct of it would require a particular Treatise, and therefore I pass it by for many Reasons, which would rather be impertinent to the Reader, than any way agreeable, or improving; However it will not be amiss to set down here what _Horace_ says of the _Chorus_, in his Art of Poetry.

A _Chorus_ shou’d supply what Action wants, And hath a gen’rous and a manly Part; Bridles wild Rage, loves rigid Honesty, And strict Observance of impartial Laws, Sobriety, Security, and Peace, And begs the Gods to turn blind Fortune’s Wheel, To raise the Wretched, and pull down the Proud. But nothing must be sung between the Acts But what some way conduces to the Plot.

ROSCOMMON.

PHILOCTETES, Son of _Pæan_, went with seven Ships of his own a Voluntier to _Troy_; and, as _Sophocles_ relates it, he was stung by a Viper in one of his Feet, which occasioned such an offensive Smell, and so great a Pain, that the Disturbance which he gave the _Greeks_ with his Exclamations oblig’d the _Grecian_ Generals to expose him in the Wilds of _Lemnos_. For which monstrous and ungrateful Treatment nothing less than the Ghost of HERCULES appearing to him could make him join a second time against the _Trojans_.

The _Merchant_ is a Person unknown, introduced by the Poet to make out the Stratagem of ULYSSES.

HERCULES, the Son of _Jupiter_ and _Alcumena_; much persecuted by _Juno_ because he was the Off-spring of a stoln Amour. Hence arise the great Number of Fables of his prodigious Exploits all over the World.

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_Dramatis Personæ._

PHILOCTETES. ULYSSES. NEOPTOLEMUS. CHORUS. MERCHANT. Ghost of HERCULES.

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THE _PHILOCTETES_ OF SOPHOCLES.

SCENE I.

_Enter_ ULYSSES.

_Ul._ Now are we landed on the [1]_Lemnian_ Coast, Encompass’d by the Ocean’s rolling Waves, Where not a Print of human Foot is seen, Nor House, nor Hut; where, _Neoptolemus_, Thou blooming Branch of the renown’d _Achilles_, I left expos’d the [2]_Melian_ Son of _Pæan_. Our Princes thus commanded; I obey’d, Because a dreadful, nauseous, ranckling Wound Eat thro’ his Foot, and made him rend the Skies With Shrieks, and loud Laments, which much disturb’d The Army; no Religious Rites cou’d be Perform’d in Peace; of which I’ll say no more; For Time contracts my Tale, and Dread of him, Lest he shou’d find me here; and so confound My secret Wiles to apprehend his Person. The rest is thine. With careful Search explore A pervious Rock, so form’d as to receive The comfortable Beams of Winter-Suns, And the cool Breezes from the Sea in Summer, With fanning Wings inviting gentle Sleep. Fast by this Rock, upon the Left, you’ll find A Spring, if still it’s living Stream be fed; To this repair with silent Pace, and see Whether he lies conceal’d within these Bounds Advance with cautious Steps, and let me know, Then we’ll consult what next is to be done.

_Neop._ Short is your Errand; for I now descry The Cave which you express----

_Ul._ ---- above? below? Or where? in vain I cast my Eyes around.

_Neop._ ’Tis there above; but not a single Trace Of any Path conducts us tow’rds the Rock.

_Ul._ Go search, perhaps he is to Sleep reclin’d.

_Neop._ There’s not a human Creature in this Place.

_Ul._ Nor fit Provision for a human Creature?

_Neop._ Some gather’d Leaves which by Impression shew They have been lain on.

_Ul._ Is there nothing more?

_Neop._ Yes. I observe a wooden Vessel, fram’d By some unskilful Hand, a little Pot To boil his Food is all that I can see.

_Ul._ These then are all the Utensils he has?

_Neop._ Alas! they’re all, except some Rags a-drying, Which by their Stains denote his fester’d Wound.

_Ul._ Then I’m convinc’d he dwells in this Abode, And can’t be far from hence; his Wounds forbid A distant Walk. Perhaps he went for Food, Or Herbs to ease his Pains; but send this Man To watch his Motion, lest by a Surprize He takes me here; for justly I suspect He’d gladly seize Me above all the _Greeks_.

_Neop._ I’ll send him straight to execute your Will---- Speak, is there any more you’d have me do?

_Ul._ Son of the great _Achilles_, it behoves thee To use thy Prudence here, as well as Valour; Whatever farther Counsel I shall give, Perform, and with a chearful Mind assist.

_Neop._ What’s your Command?----

_Ul_. ---- To _Philoctetes_ go, With soothing Speeches his Belief betray; When he enquires your Name, and whence you come, Tell him _Pelides_[3] is your Sire; so far Tell Truth; and that you now are homeward bound-- Disgusted at the _Greeks_ you fly their Fleet. That by Entreaties, and incessant Prayers, They flatter’d you from home, to conquer _Troy_; But now your Father’s Armour they deny, Which by _Hereditary Right_ you claim. Tell him they’re giv’n to me; abuse and rail With all the Malice of an injur’d Foe; Speak what you please of Me, you can’t offend. If this Advice you spurn, you bring to all The _Greeks_ one great and universal Sorrow; For if you don’t contrive to get his Arrows, You never can be conquerour of _Troy_. Besides, you had a former Friendship with him, Which makes you now the fitter to betray. You went a Voluntier, not with the first, Who bound by Oaths and fatal Influence, Sail’d against _Ilium_; This was not my Case; So that my Life’s in Danger, your’s no less, If while he’s arm’d with them he sees me here. Your Bus’ness then is to deceive him straight, And steal th’ unconquerable Weapons from him. I know by Nature you are much averse To Artifice, but think how sweet it is To bear such Arrows as are sure of Conquest. Then bravely dare to do what I advise, The Time will come, the World will think you just For this Exploit; lay by your Shame one Hour, And give yourself to me, and ever hence You shall be deem’d the justest Man on Earth.

_Neop._ [4]Son of _Laertes_, I am griev’d to hear Such Words from thee; to practise them is Death. I was not born to stoop to such vile Arts, Nor he from whom I glory to be sprung. If open Force or Fortitude require My Aid, I’ll venture; but I scorn Deceit. Sure one poor maimed Wretch can’t overthrow Such as we are, and since I’m sent with thee To join in this Adventure, I will use My utmost Force to help thee, nor betray The Trust repos’d--but let me speak my mind-- I’d rather bravely die, than basely conquer.

_Ul._ Son of the greatest Man, when I was young My Tongue was less employ’d, my Hands were more; But now, by long Experience, I’m convinc’d That Language more than Action can prevail.

_Neop._ But you a lying Language recommend.

_Ul._ I urge it still, this Man you must deceive.

_Neop._ But why deceive, can’t I as well perswade.

_Ul._ Force and Perswasion are to him the same.

_Neop._ Has he so great a Confidence in Strength?

_Ul._ Where’er his Arrows fly they carry Death.

_Neop._ Who can with Safety then approach his Presence?

_Ul._ You can’t, except you circumvent him first.

_Neop._ Do you not think it base to forge a Lie?

_Ul._ No; when your Safety on a Lie depends.

_Neop._ Who when he lies can see another’s Face?

_Ul._ When for your Gain you act, you shou’d not scruple.

_Neop._ Where is my Gain to make him go to _Troy_?

_Ul._ Because his Weapons must o’erthrow the Town.

_Neop._ Then, as you said, the Conquest can’t be mine.

_Ul._ In vain his Arrows fly without your Aid, And you attack without their Aid in vain.

_Neop._ If so, I must deceive----

_Ul._ ---- and well you do, For two Rewards you’re sure of----

_Neop._ ---- ---- ---- what are they?

_Ul._ Wisdom and Fortitude will both be thine.

_Neop._ Farewel then Modesty, for once farewel.

_Ul._ Do you remember all my Counsels?

_Neop._ Yes. I can’t forget where once I give Assent.

_Ul._ Here wait his coming, I must hence withdraw Lest I be seen; back to the Ship I send Our Spy, and if I find a long Delay I’ll send him hither, dress’d in such Disguise That he shall pass for Captain of the Ship. His very Language too shall be disguis’d; Not so but you shall plainly understand What is convenient to be done; hence then In haste I go, and leave the rest to thee. May _Mercury_ assist, God of Deceit, And wise _Minerva_, on whose Care depend Whole States; for she is still _Ulysses’_ Friend.

ANTISTROPHICA

STROPHE.

Chorus. What shall I do a Stranger here? Or what conceal? Or what reveal? Behold I see the Man appear! Instruct me then; for well I know That Arts may Arts excell, As well Counsels Counsels overthrow. Among the Sceptred Great, Few can fathom the Designs of State. To thee, my Son, this princely Pow’r is given; A Pow’r deriv’d from Heav’n. How far subservient I must be, relate.

Neop. Perhaps you willingly wou’d trace, With long expecting Eyes, The wretched solitary Place Where _Philoctetes_ lies. Then look around and do not fear, And when he comes this way, A dreadful Sight approaching near, What I command obey.

ANTISTROPHE.

Chorus. I was determin’d long before To fix my Eyes on thine, Whatever Object they explore To view the same is mine. But tell me where this wretched Creature lives, Or in what Field he lies, Such Information much Advantage gives; For much I dread Surprize. What Place? what Path? what Seat? Is it an open or a close Retreat?

Neop. No Place to rest his weary Head, A pervious Rock you see is both his House and Bed.

Chorus. Where is the friendless Creature then? The most unfortunate of Men!

Neop. Not far from hence, to find him Food, The poor dejected Soul Is gone to shed the harmless Blood Of some unguarded Fowl: He lives on present Chance they say, His winged Arrows fly, To bring the Food of ev’ry Day Down flutt’ring from the Sky. But what avail him all the slain! For still he feels a sleepless Pain.

Chorus. Much I lament his dismal Case, Without the Sight of human Face; Unhappy, and alone! Whole Nights and Days Rack’d with Disease! To sigh, to grieve, to groan! How can he bear the dreadful Shock of Fate? What num’rous Woes Encompass those, Who live not in a middle State.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus. Shou’d you the noblest ancient Lineage trace, You’ll find him of an equal Race; And yet behold him of all Joy bereft, Behold him solitary left! No Friend, no kind Companion to relieve his Pain. The spotted and the shagged Beasts around Unheeding graze; Hunger and Torment he must both sustain; For both at once the wretched Mortal seize. With piercing Shouts and Cries He rends the Skies, And _Eccho_ faithfully returns the Sound.

Neop. Nothing of this my Breast can move, If I in things divine am skill’d, Whatever is decreed above, Must be on Earth fulfill’d. At _Chrysa_ first his Malady began, ’Twas there the angry Gods attack’d the wretched Man. Nor can we think they plac’d him here alone, Without a Friend, For any other End, But that they fix’d a Season of their own, When ev’ry Wall, Of _Troy_ shou’d fall, And _Troy_ no longer be a Town.

Chorus. Be silent for a while---- ---- ----

Neop. ---- ---- ---- For what I pray?

Chorus. His piteous Groans afflict my Ear, I hear them now approaching near.

Neop. What here? or there? or in what Place? Methinks I hear a mournful Cry Of one, who moves a wretched Pace, And dreads his maimed Foot to try. ’Tis he instructed by his Voice I know; I feel the murth’ring Language of his Woe.

Chorus. But have my Son---- ----

Neop. ---- ---- have what?

Chorus. Some other Thoughts; you see him near at Hand, Not like a Shepherd with a tuneful Reed; But one who dreads upon his Foot to stand, Because the lightest Pressure makes it bleed. If by ill chance he trips against a Stone, With loud lamenting Voice he shrieks and roars; And when he spies a Ship; he cries, begone! Fly far from these inhospitable Shores!

_Enter_ PHILOCTETES.

_Phil._ Alas, ye Strangers! tell me whence ye come, Whence to these wild, these unfrequented Shores? There’s neither House, nor Port! whence? tell me whence Ye come? your Country and your Names: I see You’re _Greeks_ in Dress, a lovely Dress to me. Delight my Ears for once with welcome Sounds; My native Tongue; ah! don’t ye start, or dread To see me thus grown savage; rather shew Compassion to a poor unfortunate, Friendless, forsaken Wretch; speak if you’re Friends. O! answer me in haste, it is not meet A mutual Conversation shou’d be wanting.

_Neop._ Know we are _Greeks_; for this you want to know.

_Phil._ O dearest Voice, after ten long years Silence, To hear the Words of such a Man! what Joy! What Rapture does it give! my Son, tell who Has brought you hither? what Necessity? What Expectations? or what friendly Wind Has wafted you to us? O! tell us all, For much I long to know the happy Cause.

_Neop._ My Country’s _Scyros_; homewards I am bound; My Sire’s _Achilles_; _Neoptolemus_ My Name; thus I have told you all in short.

_Phil._ Son of my dearest Friend, and dearest Country; Of [5]_Lycomedes_ the peculiar Care When young; what Fleet has brought thee here? or whence?

_Neop._ From _Troy_ directly, thence I steer my Course.

_Phil._ What’s this you say? when first we went to _Troy_ You were not with us on that Expedition.

_Neop._ Why, were you one of that advent’rous Fleet?

_Phil._ Know you me not, my Son?

_Neop._ ---- ---- How shou’d I know A Person whom I never saw before?

_Phil._ Did you not hear my Name, or the Report Of all the Torments which have rack’d my Soul?

_Neop._ No not one single Word of Name or Torments.

_Phil._ Ah! wretched me!--odious to Heav’n’s great Powers!-- My woful Case was neither heard at Home, Nor ev’n among the _Greeks_,--but those who cast Me out smile at my Wrongs, and keep them secret. My Wounds still ranckle, and encrease my Pain. Beloved Youth, Son of the fam’d _Pelides_, I the Successor of great _Hercules_ Possess his Arrows: I’m the Son of _Pæan_, Call’d _Philoctetes_, whom two _Grecian_ Chiefs, Join’d with the subtle [6]_Cephalenian_ Prince Basely cast out into this desert Isle; Torn with wild Anguish, with Impressions dire Of Vipers Teeth all burning; thus they left me Forlorn, when hither they from [7]_Chrysa_ sail’d; Tir’d with the Agitation of the Waves, And sunk to Sleep profound; rejoic’d to find This cruel Opportunity, they fled And laid me in the hollow of a Rock; A few small Rags to bind my noisome Wounds, And present Food a little, all they left me. I wak’d! O Heavens! my Son, what Tongue can tell The Sorrows of my Soul? what Floods of Tears Flow’d down my Cheeks! what Sighs! what Groans! To see them sailing off, and not one Soul With solitary mourning _Philoctetes_. No Help, no friendly Care, no kind Relief To my distracting Sores; I look’d around, And found not one Companion but my Pain; Which ne’er remits. Day after Day went on, I saw my little Cave must be supply’d By my own Care, and Hunger be subdu’d By the wild Doves my faithful Arrows slew. What Birds I shot I crawl’d along with Pain To bring them home, and dragg’d my bleeding Foot With Anguish great. When to the limpid Spring I crept to cool my parching Thirst, or went To gather Fewel for my Fire, (the same Affliction seiz’d me as I limp’d along) This by repeated Stroaks of Flints I kindled, But long before the little Seeds of Fire, Scarce visible, became a living Flame. This is my chief Support, my Cave’s best Comfort; It grants me all but a Release from Pain. But now, my Son, ’tis Time I should relate The Nature of this Place. No Sailor steers With willing Sails to these inhuman Shores; No Trade; no Harbours; here no Mortal dwells With hospitable Care to tend a Stranger; None in their Senses will approach this Place. If hither by tempestuous waves they’re driven (As oft it happens in the length of Time) To soft Compassion mov’d, my sad Condition They pity, and some Food and Raiment give; But not a Soul will take me home, but here I’m left to perish in the desert Wilds. For ten long Years of Hunger and of Pain, I fed the Wounds, that feed themselves on me. This the [8]_Atridæ_ did, and this _Ulysses_; For which may Heav’n inflict like Woes on them.

Chorus. Like those by chance who hither sail, I feel Compassion rise; Thy Suff’rings force me to bewail, They pierce my wounded Heart and melt my Eyes.

_Neop._ I am a Witness of thy sad Complaint; The Truth of what you say I cannot doubt; I by Experience know, how violent The Sons of _Atreus_ and _Ulysses_ are.

_Phil._ Have you then felt their curst, destructive Power, That with a just Resentment you accuse them?

_Neop._ I wish my Passion were with Arms supply’d, That [9]_Sparta_ and _Mycenæ_ both might know, What valiant Heroes _Scyros_ can produce.

_Phil._ Well said, my Son, what is your Cause of Anger?

_Neop._ Thou Son of _Pæan_, I’ll impart it all, Tho’ Words are wanting justly to describe The injur’d _Neoptolemus_, when he Had lost his best Defence, his martial Father.

_Phil._ Alas! proceed no farther ’till I hear Whether the [10]Son of _Peleus_ be no more.

_Neop._ He fell, but by no mortal hand; they say It was _Apollo_ sent the fatal Shaft.

_Phil._ Great was the Hand that slew! and great the slain! But now, my Son, I am divided much Between thy Suff’rings and his Death to know Whether to hear thy Griefs, or wail his Fate.

_Neop._ Thy own Misfortunes bring sufficient Pains, And leave no room to think of any others.

_Phil._ You reason well. Then to yourself proceed, And let me know the Injuries you bear.