Then Philoctetes bewailed himself, crying to his bow, “O my bow, my beloved, that they have wrested from my hands, surely, if thou knowest aught, thou grievest to see that the man who was the comrade of Hercules will never hold thee more, but that base hands will grasp thee, mixing thee with all manner of deceit.” And then again he called to the birds of the air and the beasts of the field, that they should not fly from him any more, seeing that he had now no help against them, but should come and avenge themselves upon him and devour him. And still the sailors would have comforted him. Also they sought to persuade him that he should listen to the chiefs; but he would not, crying that the lightning should smite him before he would go to Troy and help them that had done him such wrong. And at the last he cried that they should give him a spear or a sword, that he might be rid of his life.
But while they thus talked together, the Prince came back like one that is in haste, with Ulysses following him, who cried, “Wherefore turnest thou back?”
“To undo what I did amiss.”
“How sayest thou? When didst thou thus?”
“When I listened to thee, and used deceit to a brave man.”
“What wilt thou then? (I fear me much what this fool may do.)”
“I will give back this bow and these arrows to him from whom I took them by craft.”
“That shalt thou not do.”
“But who shall hinder me?”
“That will I, and all the sons of the Greeks with me.”