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352 And I sail homeward, I, Achilles' son,

Named Neoptolemos. Now know'st thou all.

Phil. Ο son of dearest father, much-loved land,

Thou darling boy of Lycomedes old,

Whence sailing, whither bound, hast thou steered hither?

Neop. At present I from Ilion make my voyage.

Phil. What say'st thou? Thou wast surely not with us

A sailor when the fleet to Ilion came?

Neop. What? Did'st thou, too, share that great enterprise?

Phil. And know'st thou not, Ο boy, whom thou dost see?

Neop. How can I know a man I ne'er beheld?

Phil. And did'st thou never hear my name, nor fame

Of these my ills, in which I pined away?

Neop. Know that I nothing know of what thou ask'st.

Phil. Ο crushed with many woes, and of the Gods

Hated am I, of whom, in this my woe,

No rumour travelled homeward, nor went forth

Through any clime of Hellas! But the men

Who cast me out in scorn of holiest laws

Laugh in their sleeve, and this my sore disease

Still grows apace, and passes into worse.

My son, Ο boy that call'st Achilles sire,

Lo! I am he, of whom perchance thou heard'st,

That I possess the arms of Heracles,

The son of Pœas, Philoctetes, whom

Our generals twain and Kephallene's king

Basely cast forth thus desolate, worn out

Through fierce disease, with bite of murderous snake,

Fierce bite, sore smitten; and with that, Ο boy,