Chorus
Divine Sleep, god who knows no pain, Sleep, stranger to anguish, come in favor to us, come happy, and giving happiness, great King! Keep before his eyes such light as is spread before them now. Come to him, I pray you, come with power to heal! Son, consider what position you will take, and to what strategy you will next direct our course. You see his condition now! Why should we hesitate to act? Opportunity, the umpire of all contests, often wins a great victory by one swift stroke.
Neoptolemus
No, even though he hears nothing, I see that we have made this bow our quarry to no end, if we sail without him. His must be the victor’s crown. It is he that the god commanded we bring. It would be a foul disgrace upon us to boast of deeds in which failure and fraud had equal parts.
Chorus
Well, the god must look to that, son. But when you answer me again, softly, please, softly whisper your words. For sick men’s restless sleep is quick to vision. But, please, use your utmost care to win that prize, that great prize, by stealth. For if you maintain your present purpose towards this man—you know what purpose I mean—then truly there are irremediable troubles in store, which a shrewd mind can foresee.
Chorus
Now, son, a fair wind blows you on your way: sightless and helpless, the man lies stretched in darkness—sleep in the heat is sound— with no command of hands or feet, but stripped of all his powers, like one who rests with Hades. Take note, see if your pronouncements are seasonable. So far as my thoughts can seize the truth, boy, the best strategy is that which stirs no alarm.
Cite This Text