NEO. Fear not my care. No hand shall hold these arms
But thine and mine. Give, and Heaven bless the deed!
PHI. I give them; there, my son! But look to Heaven
And pray no envy smite thee, nor such bane
In having them, as fell on me and him
Who bore them formerly.
NEO. O grant it, Gods!
And grant us fair and happy voyage, where’er
Our course is shaped and righteous Heaven shall guide.
PHI. Ah! but I fear, my son, thy prayer is vain:
For welling yet again from depths within,
This gory ooze is dripping. It will come!
I know it will. O, foot, torn helpless thing,
[page 239][786-816] What wilt thou do to me? Ah! ah! It comes,
It is at hand. ’Tis here! Woe’s me, undone!
I have shown you all. Stay near me. Go not far:
Ah! ah!
O island king, I would this agony
Might cleave thy bosom through and through! Woe, woe!
Woe! Ah! ye two commanders of the host,
Agamemnon, Menelaüs, O that ye,
Another ten years’ durance in my room
Might nurse this malady! O Death, Death, Death!
I call thee daily—wilt thou never come?
Will it not be?—My son, thou noble boy,
If thou art noble, take and burn me there
Aloft in yon all-worshipped Lemnian fire!
Yea, when the bow thou keep’st was my reward,
I did like service for the child of Heaven.
How now, my son?
What say’st? Art silent? Where—where art thou, boy?
NEO. My heart is full, and groaning o’er thy woes.
PHI. Nay, yet have comfort. This affliction oft
Goes no less swiftly than it came. I pray thee,
Stand fast and leave me not alone!
NEO. Fear nought.
We will not stir.
PHI. Wilt thou remain?
NEO. Be sure of it.
PHI. I’ll not degrade thee with an oath, my son.