PHILOCTETES.
I come to join my sorrows and my tears,
For know the world with me hath lost its best
And noblest friend: ne'er shall these eyes behold
The offspring of the gods, like them unconquered,
Earth's best support, the guardian deity
Of innocence oppressed: I mourn a friend,
The world a father.
DIMAS.
Is Alcides dead?
PHILOCTETES.
These hands performed the melancholy office,
Laid on his funeral pile the first of men;
The all-conquering arrows, those dear dreadful gifts
The son of Jove bequeathed me, have I brought,
With his cold ashes, here, where I will raise
A tomb and altars to my valued friend.
O! had he lived! had but indulgent heaven,
In pity to mankind, prolonged his days,
Far from Jocaste I had still remained;
And, though I might have cherished still my vain
And hopeless passion, had not wandered here,
Or left Alcides for a woman's love.
DIMAS.
Oft have I pitied thy unhappy flame,
Caught in thy earliest youth, increasing still
And growing with thy growth: Jocaste, forced
By a hard father to a hateful bed,
Unwillingly partook the throne of Laius.
Alas! what tears those fatal nuptials cost,
What sorrows have they brought on wretched Thebes!
How have I oft admired thy noble soul,
