Think of it, child: how I awoke to find them gone and myself left alone. Think of how I cried, how I cursed myself, when I knew my ship had gone off with them, and not a man was left to help me overcome this illness. I could see nothing before me but grief and pain, and those in abundance.
Time ran its course. I have had to make my own life, to be my own servant in this tiny cave. I seek out birds to fill my stomach, and shoot them down. After I let loose a tautly drawn bolt, I drag myself along on this stinking foot. When I had to drink the water that pours from this spring, in icy winter, I had to break up wood, crippled as I am, and melt the ice alone. I dragged myself around and did it. And if the fire went out, I had to sit, and grind stone against stone until a spark sprang up to save my life. This roof, if I have fire, at least gives me a home, gives me all that I need to stay alive except release from my anguish.
Come, child, let me tell you of this island. No one comes here willingly. There is no anchorage here, nor any place to land, profit in trade, and be received. Intelligent people know not to come here, but sometimes they do, against their will. In the long time I have been here, it was bound to happen. When those people put in, they pitied me—- or pretended to, at least—-and gave me new clothes and a bit of food. But when I asked for a homeward passage, they would never take me with them.
It is my tenth year of hunger and the ravaging illness
that I feed with my flesh.
The Atreids and Odysseus did this to me.
May the Olympian gods give them pain in return.
CHORUS
I am like those who came here before.
I pity you, unlucky Philoktetes.
NEOPTOLEMOS
And I am a witness to your words. I know you speak truly, for I have known them, the evil Atreids and violent Odysseus.
PHILOKTETES
Do you too have a claim against the all-destroying house of Atreus? Have they made you suffer? Is that why you are angry?