NEO. I saw him not, but knew he was alive.
PHI. He must be: for no evil yet was crushed. The Heavens will ever shield it. 'Tis their sport To turn back all things rancorous and malign From going down to the grave, and send instead The good and true. Oh, how shall we commend Such dealings, how defend them? When I praise Things god-like, I find evil in the Gods.
NEO. I, O thou child of a Trachinian sire, Henceforth will take good care, from far away To look on Troy and Atreus' children twain. Yea, where the trickster lords it o'er the just, And goodness languishes and rascals rule, --Such courses I will nevermore endure. But rock-bound Scyros henceforth shall suffice To yield me full contentment in my home. Now, to my vessel! And thou, Poeas' child, Farewell, right heartily farewell! May Heaven Grant thy desire, and rid thee of thy plague! Let us be going, that when God shall give Fair voyage, that moment we may launch away.
NEO. Our time Bids us go near and look to sail erelong.
PHI. Now, by thy father, by thy mother,--nay, By all thy love e'er cherished in thy home, Suppliant I beg thee, leave me not thus lone, Forlorn in all my misery which thou seest, In all thou hast heard of here surrounding me! Stow me with other freightage. Full of care, I know, and burdensome the charge may prove. Yet venture! Surely to the noble mind All shame is hateful and all kindness blest. And shame would be thy meed, didst thou fail here But, doing this, thou shalt have glorious fame, When I return alive to Oeta's vale. Come, 'tis the labour not of one whole day. So thou durst take me, fling me where thou wilt O' the ship, in hold, prow, stern, or wheresoe'er I least may trouble those on board with me. Ah! by great Zeus, the suppliant's friend, comply, My son, be softened! See, where I am fall'n Thus on my knees before thee, though so weak, Crippled and powerless. Ah! forsake me not Thus far from human footstep. Take me, take me! If only to thy home, or to the town Of old Chalcodon[5] in Euboea.--From thence I have not far to Oeta, and the ridge Of Trachis, and Spercheius' lordly flood. So thou shalt bless my father with my sight. And yet long since I fear he may be gone. For oft I sent him suppliant prayers by men Who touched this isle, entreating him to fetch And bear me safely home with his own crew. But either he is dead, or else, methinks, It well may be, my messengers made light Of my concerns, and hastened onward home. But now in thee I find both messenger And convoy, thou wilt pity me and save. For, well thou knowest, danger never sleeps, And fear of dark reverse is always nigh. Mortals, when free, should look where mischief lurks, And in their happiest hour consider well Their life, lest ruin unsuspected come.