Neop. For what?
Chor. For thoughts and counsels new,
For lo! the man is not far off, but near;
No note of reed-pipe his,
As shepherd roaming idly through the fields,
But stumbling, for sheer pain,
He utters a lament that travels far,
Or seeing this our ship
Lying anchored in the bay inhospitable;
For sharp and dread his cry.
Enter Philoctetes, in worn and tattered raiment.
Phil. Ho, there, my friends!
Who are ye that have come to this our shore,220
And by what chance? for neither is it safe
To anchor in, nor yet inhabited.
What may I guess your country and your race?
Your outward guise and dress of Hellas speak,
To me most dear, and yet I fain would hear
Your speech and draw not back from me in dread,
As fearing this my wild and savage look,
But pity one unhappy, left alone,
Thus helpless, friendless, worn with many ills.
Speak, if it be ye come to me as friends:
Nay, answer me, it is not meet that I230
Should fail of this from you, nor ye from me.
Neop. Know this then first, Ο stranger, that we come,
Of Hellas all; for this thou seek'st to know.
Phil. Ο dear-loved sound! Ah me! what joy it is
After long years to hear a voice like thine!
What led thee hither, what need brought thee here?
Whither thy voyage, what blest wind bore thee on?
Tell all, that I may know thee who thou art.
Neop. By birth I come from sea-girt Skyros' isle,
