Philoctetes monologue — Specimens of Greek Tragedy — Aeschylus and Sophocles

O pest, O bane, O of all villainy Vile masterpiece, what hast thou done to me? How am I duped? Wretch, hast thou no regard For the unfortunate, the suppliant? Thou tak'st my life when thou dost take my bow. Give it me back, good youth, I do entreat. O by thy gods, rob me not of my life. Alas! he answers not, but as resolved Upon denial, turns away his face. O havens, headlands, lairs of mountain beasts, That my companions here have been, O cliffs Steep-faced, since other audience have I none, In your familiar presence I complain Of the wrong done me by Achilles' son. Home he did swear to take me, not to Troy. Against his plighted faith the sacred bow Of Heracles, the son of Zeus, he steals, And means to show it to the Argive host. He fancies that he over strength prevails, Not seeing that I am a corpse, a shade, A ghost. Were I myself, he had not gained The day, nor would now save by treachery. I am entrapped. Ah me! what can I do? Yet be thyself and give me back my bow. Say that thou wilt. He speaks not; I am lost. O rock, with twofold doorway, I return To thee disarmed, bereft of sustenance. Deserted, I shall wither in that cell, No longer slaying bird or sylvan beast With yonder bow. Myself shall with my flesh Now feed the creatures upon which I fed, And be by my own quarry hunted down. Thus shall I sadly render blood for blood, And all through one that seemed to know no wrong. Curse thee I will not till all hope is fled Of thy repentance; then accursed die.