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PHI.
Mean’st thou to Troy, and to the hateful sons
Of Atreus, me, with this distressful limb?

NEO.
Nay, but to those that will relieve the pain
Of thy torn foot and heal thee of thy plague.

PHI.
Thy words are horrible. What mean’st thou, boy?

NEO.
The act I deem the noblest for us both.

PHI.
Wilt thou speak so? Where is thy fear of Heaven?

NEO.
Why should I fear, when I see certain gain?

PHI.
Gain for the sons of Atreus, or for me?

NEO.
Methinks a friend should give thee friendly counsel.

PHI.
Friendly, to hand me over to my foes?

NEO.
Ah, be not hardened in thy misery!

PHI.
I know thou wilt ruin me by what thou speakest.

NEO.
Not I. The case is dark to thee, I see.

PHI.
I know the Atreidae cast me on this rock.

NEO.
But how, if they should save thee afterward?

PHI.
They ne’er shall make me see Troy with my will.

NEO.
Hard is my fortune, then, if by no sleight
Of reasoning I can draw thee to my mind.
For me, ’twere easiest to end speech, that thou
Might’st live on as thou livest in hopeless pain.

PHI.
Then leave me to my fate!–But thou hast touched
My right hand with thine own, and given consent
To bear me to my home. Do this, dear son!
And do not linger to take thought of Troy.
Enough that name hath echoed in my groans.

NEO.
If thou wilt, let us be going.

PHI.
Nobly hast thou said the word.

NEO.
Lean thy steps on mine.

PHI.
As firmly as my foot will strength afford.

NEO.
Ah! but how shall I escape Achaean anger?

PHI.
Do not care!

NEO.
Ah! but should they spoil my country!

PHI.
I to shield thee will be there.

NEO.
How to shield me, how to aid me?

PHI.
With the shafts of HERACLES
I will scare them.

NEO.
Give thy blessing to this isle, and come in peace.

[HERACLES appears from above.]

HERACLES.
First, son of Poeas, wait till thou hast heard
The voice of HERACLES, and weighed his word.
Him thou beholdest from the Heavenly seat
Come down, for thee leaving the blest retreat,
To tell thee all high Zeus intends, and stay
Thy purpose in the journey of to-day.
Then hear me, first how after my long toils
By strange adventure I have found and won
Immortal glory, which thine eyes perceive;
And the like lot, I tell thee, shall be thine,
After these pains to rise to glorious fame.
Sailing with this thy comrade to Troy-town,
First thou shalt heal thee from thy grievous sore,
And then, being singled forth from all the host
As noblest, thou shalt conquer with that bow
Paris, prime author of these years of harm,
And capture Troy, and bear back to thy hall
The choicest guerdon, for thy valour’s meed,
To Oeta’s vale and thine own father’s home.
But every prize thou tak’st be sure thou bear
Unto my pyre, in memory of my bow.
This word, Achilles’ offspring, is for thee
No less. For, as thou could’st not without him,
So, without thee, he cannot conquer Troy.
Then, like twin lions hunting the same hill,
Guard thou him, and he thee! and I will send
Asclepius Troyward to relieve thy pain.
For Ilion now a second time must fall
Before the Herculean bow. But, take good heed,
Midst all your spoil to hold the gods in awe.
For our great Father counteth piety
Far above all. This follows men in death,
And fails them not when they resign their breath.