Philoctetes' supplication (Soph. Phil. 468-506) in 19 couplets

This is something I've been working on and off for months. The rhymes and meter came out looser than in my First Stasimon translation, but rendering this text also felt much more complicated because it's less gnomic than the previous one. On the flip side, I feel like the translation is less of an "impression" and conveys the text better than my previous Sophocles translation. Again, it's not a 1:1 line match but more or less a couplet or two per sentence, or per logical section, and took some liberties with the translation.

The scene is from Sophocles' Philoctetes: Philoctetes, bitten by a snake and marooned by Odysseus ten years earlier, begs Neoptolemus to take him off the island. His wound never healed, is foul-smelling, and is prone to spasms of pain that leave him alternating between screaming and passing out. This is why he was put ashore — the crew could not take it. Odysseus and Neoptolemus have only come back for him in order to take the bow of Heracles, which a prophecy says is needed to take Troy (later it turns out that Philoctetes is needed as well). Neoptolemus has been sent to steal the bow through deception, but finds himself pitying Philoctetes more and more.

This is Philoctetes' plea to him when the crew signals to Neoptolemus that they are leaving. It's a form of ἱκεσία, a formal supplication, a ritual that binds the supplicandus under a moral obligation to help. The problem is that this form of supplication depends on the supplicandus acting as an honest judge, which is morally unstable from the start because Neoptolemus is there to deceive him.

The text is from T.B.L. Webster's Cambridge Greek and Latin Classics edition (1970).

Φι. πρὸς νῦν σε πατρός, πρός τε μητρός, ὦ τέκνον,
πρός τ' εἴ τί σοι κατ' οἶκόν ἐστι προσφιλές,
ἱκέτης ἱκνοῦμαι, μὴ λίπῃς μ' οὕτω μόνον,
ἔρημον ἐν κακοῖσι τοῖσδ' οἵοις ὁρᾷς
ὅσοισί τ' ἐξήκουσας ἐνναίοντά με.
ἀλλ' ἐν παρέργῳ θοῦ με. δυσχέρεια μέν,
ἔξοιδα, πολλὴ τοῦδε τοῦ φορήματος·
ὅμως δὲ τλῆθι· τοῖσι γενναίοισί τοι
τό τ' αἰσχρὸν ἐχθρὸν καὶ τὸ χρηστὸν εὐκλεές.
σοὶ δ', ἐκλιπόντι τοῦτ', ὄνειδος οὐ καλόν,
δράσαντι δ', ὦ παῖ, πλεῖστον εὐκλείας γέρας,
ἐὰν μόλω 'γὼ ζῶν πρὸς Οἰταίαν χθόνα.
ἴθ', ἡμέρας τοι μόχθος οὐχ ὅλης μιᾶς.
τόλμησον, ἐμβαλοῦ μ' ὅποι θέλεις ἄγων,
ἐς ἀντλίαν, ἐς πρῷραν, ἐς πρύμνην, ὅποι
ἥκιστα μέλλω τοὺς ξυνόντας ἀλγυνεῖν.
νεῦσον, πρὸς αὐτοῦ Ζηνὸς ἱκεσίου, τέκνον,
πείσθητι· προσπίτνω σε γόνασι, καίπερ ὢν
ἀκράτωρ ὁ τλήμων, χωλός. ἀλλὰ μή μ' ἀφῇς
ἔρημον οὕτω χωρὶς ἀνθρώπων στίβου,
ἀλλ' ἢ πρὸς οἶκον τὸν σὸν ἐκσώσας μ' ἄγε,
ἢ πρὸς τὰ Χαλκώδοντος Εὐβοίας σταθμά·
κἀκεῖθεν οὔ μοι μακρὸς εἰς Οἴτην στόλος
Τραχινίαν τε δειράδα καὶ τὸν εὔροον
Σπερχειὸν ἔσται, πατρί μ' ὡς δείξῃς φίλῳ,
ὃν δὴ παλαιὸν ἐξότου δέδοικ' ἐγὼ
μή μοι βεβήκῃ. πολλὰ γὰρ τοῖς ἱγμένοις
ἔστελλον αὐτὸν ἱκεσίους πέμπων λιτάς,
αὐτόστολον πέμψαντά μ' ἐκσῶσαι δόμους.
ἀλλ' ἢ τέθνηκεν, ἢ τὰ τῶν διακόνων,
ὡς εἰκός, οἶμαι, τοὐμὸν ἐν σμικρῷ μέρος
ποιούμενοι τὸν οἴκαδ' ἤπειγον στόλον.
νῦν δ', εἰς σὲ γὰρ πομπόν τε καὐτὸν ἄγγελον
ἥκω, σὺ σῶσον, σύ μ' ἐλέησον, εἰσορῶν
ὡς πάντα δεινὰ κἀπικινδύνως βροτοῖς
κεῖται παθεῖν μὲν εὖ, παθεῖν δὲ θάτερα.
χρὴ δ' ἐκτὸς ὄντα πημάτων τὰ δείν' ὁρᾶν,
χὤταν τις εὖ ζῇ, τηνικαῦτα τὸν βίον
σκοπεῖν μάλιστα μὴ διαφθαρεὶς λάθῃ.

By your father, by your mother, by any face that greets you home,
A supplicant's claim I lay on you — don't you leave me alone!
Deserted in these troubles, so plain for you to see,
as you have heard I dwell like this, amid such misery.
I know it's foul and loathsome, but some bywork I could be,
count me as a cargo-ware — but bear it, and take me!
Steel yourself, as they always say: for those of noble mind,
the shameful acts are held in hate and the honorable enshrined.
By abandoning me here, your good repute will bend,
such a deed a decent man can't begin to defend.
But do as I say, o child, and kindly take me there,
should I reach Oeta living — the glory's yours to bear.
Haste! It's not a day of work. This time you must be bold!
Throw me in the bow, the stern, into the bilge-foul hold!
Wherever I will least trouble those who share your ship,
put me there, so that your crew may sail an easy trip.
Nod assent, be moved by Zeus who shelters those who pray,
to your knees I fall and clasp — lame worn-down helpless, stray.
Don't you abandon me in such an isolated place,
the tread of men I have not heard in many thousand days.
Instead, after you've saved me, bring me either to your home
or to Chalcodon's Euboean shores, homesteads near the foam.
From there the path into Oeta — even my limping leg could close,
near Trachinia's rocky heights, where fair Spercheios ever flows.
So you might bring me there for my dear father to see,
who ever since I left for war, I fear is gone from me.
Every sailor landed here, I've begged to carry pleas,
that he himself might sail and bring me home 'cross the seas.
By now he has either passed — or the messengers I sent,
thought nothing of my pleas, and just swiftly home they went.
I come to you now — you're both my herald and escort.
So you save me, show me mercy! And bring me safe to port!
You see, everything that's laid out for mortals to endure,
is dark with dread and danger — they suffer fortune, good and poor.
When one is free from misery, they must be sharp on their toes,
and not falter in the careful watch for things that could cause woes.
Especially when living well they can't afford to quit,
lest they end up ruined without realizing it.