Philoctetes Monologue
| Philoctetes Monologue by Sophocles | |
| Character: | Philoctetes |
| Gender: | Male |
| Age (range): | ? |
| Style: | Classical |
| Length: | < 3 minutes |
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- PHILOCTETES: O what a drudge and sport of Gods am I!
- Of whose ill plight no whisper ever came
- To my own home, or any coast of Greece,
- But they who thrust me out unrighteously
- Laugh and keep silence, while my sickness ever
- Grows on me and increases more and more.
- O boy! O son, calling Achilles sire,
- I am the man who, may be, thou hast heard
- Was master of the arms of Heracles,
- The son of Pœas, Philoctetes! whom
- The Captains twain and the Cephallenite king
- Cast out thus shamefully--deserted--sick
- Of a consuming wound--pierced through and through
- By the destroying viper's venomous fangs;
- And in this plight, boy, they exposed me here,
- Left me, and went! when from the Chrysean coast
- They put in hither with their navy, straight,
- Soon as they saw me sleeping on the beach,
- Tired with long tossing, in a sheltered cave,
- They laughed, they went, they left me! casting me
- A few mean rags, a beggar's garniture,
- And some poor pittance, too, of nourishment,
- Such as, I pray, be theirs! O then, my son,
- What sort of waking, think you, from that sleep
- Had I when they were gone! How did I weep,
- How did I wail, for my calamities!
- Seeing the ships which I was leader of
- All gone away, and no man in the place
- Who should suffice me, or should comfort me
- In the disease of which I laboured; yea
- Though I sought everywhere, nothing I found
- Left to me, save my anguish; and, my son,
- Of that no lack indeed! Hour after hour
- Passed by me; and I must needs make shift alone,
- Under this scanty shelter. For my food,
- This quiver sought out what supplied my need,
- Hitting the doves on wing; then to the mark
- Of the shot bolt I had to crawl, with pain,
- Dragging a wounded foot. If upon this
- I wanted to get anything to drink,
- Or, as in winter when the hoar frost lay,
- To break some sticks to burn, this, creeping forth,
- I had to manage, in my misery.
- Ther there would be no fire; but striking hard
- With flint on flint I struck out painfully
- An obscure spark, which keeps me still alive.
- Thus shelter overhead, not without fire,
- Furnishes all, save healing of my sore.--
- Come now and hear about the isle, my son;
- No sailor willingly approaches it;
- For anchorage there is not, or a port
- Whither a man might sail, and make his mart
- By traffic, or find welcome; prudent men
- Do not make voyage here. Some one, perhaps,
- Might land against his will; for these things oft
- Will happen in the long-drawn life of men;
- But such, my son, when they do come, in words
- Pity me, and in compassion give me, say
- Some morsel of food, or matter of attire;
- But that thing no man, when I hint it, will do--
- Take me safe home; but this tenth year already
- In hunger and distress I pine and perish,
- Feeding the gnawing tooth of my disease.
- The Atridae, and Ulysses' violence,
- Have done me all this wrong; the like of which,
- O boy, may the Olympian Gods give them
- One day to suffer, in revenge for me!
- Of whose ill plight no whisper ever came
Credits: Reprinted from Dramas. Sophocles. London: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1906.
