THE BOOK WAS DRENCHED - OUDL Home

If then thou thinkst as he does—thou knowst whom—
This is the hour. At such a time, my son,
The wisest err. But mark me, the wind's fair,
And Philoctetes sleeps, void of all help—
Lame, impotent, unable to resist,
He is as one among the dead. E'en now
We'll take him with us. Twere an easy task.
Leave it to me, my son. There is no danger.
NEOPTOLEMUS
No more! His eyes are open. See, he moves.
PHILOCTETES (awaking)
0 fair returning light! beyond my hope;
You too, my kind preservers! O my son!
1 could not think thou wouldst have stayed so long
In kind compassion to thy friend. Alas!
The Atreidae never would have acted thus.
But noble is thy nature, and thy birth,
And therefore little did my wretchedness,
Nor from my wounds the noisome stench deter
Thy generous heart. I have a little respite;
Help me, my son! I'll try to rise; this weakness
Will leave me soon, and then we'll go together.
NEOPTOLEMUS
I little thought to find thee thus restored.
Trust me, I joy to see thee free from pain,
And hear thee speak; the marks of death were on thee.
Raise thyself up; thy friends here, if thou wilt,
Shall carry thee, 'twill be no burthen to them
If we request it.
PHILOCTETES
No; thy hand alone;
I will not trouble them; 'twill be enough
If they can bear with me and my distemper
When we embark.
NEOPTOLEMUS
Well, be it so; but rise.
PHILOCTETES (rising)
Oh! never fear; I'll rise as well as ever.