With such a countenance e'er uttered laws
Unto his subject tribes? So deep his calm1685
Of soul. All tears were dried, our sorrows shamed
To silence, and we groaned no more to think
That he must perish. E'en Alcmena's self,
Whose sex is prone to mourn, now tearless stood,
A worthy mother of her noble son.1690
Nurse: But did he, on the verge of death, no prayer
To heaven breathe, no aid from Jove implore?
Philoctetes: With peaceful soul he lay, and scanned the skies,