Far from all honour,—­as thou sayest, by them,
But, as they turn the tale, by thee.—­And now
Why fetch me hence and take me?  To what end? 
I am nothing, dead to you this many a year. 
How, O thou Heaven-abhorred! am I not now
Lame and of evil smell? how shall ye vaunt
Before the gods drink-offering or the fat
Of victims, if I sail among your crew? 
For this, as ye professed, was the chief cause
Why ye disowned me.  Perish!—­So ye shall,
For the wrong done me, if the Heavens be just. 
And that they are, I know.  Else had ye ne’er
Sailed on this errand for an outcast wretch,
Had they not pricked your heart with thoughts of me. 
Oh, if ye pity me, chastising powers,
And thou, the Genius of my land, revenge,
Revenge this crime on all their heads at once! 
My life is pitiable; but if I saw
Their ruin, I would think me well and strong.

CH.  How full of bitterness is his resolve,
Wrathfully spoken with unbending will!

OD.  I might speak long in answer, did the time
Give scope, but now one thing is mine to say. 
I am known to vary with the varying need;
And when ’tis tried, who can be just and good,
My peer will not be found for piety. 
But though on all occasions covetous
Of victory, this once I yield to thee,
And willingly.  Unhand him there.  Let go! 
Leave him to stay.  What further use of thee,
When we have ta’en these arms?  Have we not Teucer,
Skilled in this mystery?  Yea, I may boast
Myself thine equal both in strength and aim
To wield them.  Fare thee well, then!  Thou art free
To roam thy barren isle.  We need thee not. 
Let us be going!  And perchance thy gift
May bring thy destined glory to my brow.

PHI.  What shall I do?  Alas, shalt thou be seen
Graced with mine arms amongst Achaean men?

OD.  No more!  I am going.

PHI.  O Achilles’ child! 
Wilt thou, too, vanish?  Must I lose thy voice?

OD.  Come on, and look not, noble though thou be,
Lest thou undo our fortune.

PHI.  Mariners,
Must ye, too, leave me thus disconsolate? 
Will ye not pity me?

CH.  Our captain’s here. 
Whate’er he saith to thee, that we too speak.

NEO.  My chief will call me weakling, soft of heart;
But go not yet, since our friend bids you stay. 
Till we have prayed, and all be ready on board. 
Meanwhile, perchance, he may conceive some thought
That favours our design.  We two will start;
And ye, be swift to speed forth at our call. [Exit

MONODY.