SCENE 1. _An outer court, Dioniysius' palace. Two entrances to palace on the right. Columns rear. Sea and sky seen between them. Behind columns a street. At left a garden. Speusippus and lords pass from street toward garden._ _Speu._ Dion, my lords, has gathered friends in Athens, And waits your invitation to set sail With power for your relief. Six circled moons Have risen from the sea since he was banished And you are dumb as you were staring yet Upon the marvel of his taking off. _First lord._ What is his life with you? _Speu._ He walks a mark For Athens' eye,--a breathing virtue, sir, Making the good in other men stand still To gaze at what in him is better. _Second lord._ This Is his true color. _Speu._ True? By Pallas, sir, Apollo purges not more ardently The earth of humors than he iniquity From man and state! Divinity has made His heart her brooding place to bring forth deeds So like her own complexion that men read The book of Heaven in them and grow wise Without the aid of schools. _First lord._ We know our loss. _Third lord._ The tyrant sends him his great revenues. _Speu._ Which Dion casts like sweet and general rain On parching poverty. His charity Is a perpetual summer where bruised merit Lifteth in flower. _Second lord._ So was it here. _Speu._ And you Could have him home had you some brave Greek blood At heart. Please you, I've heard a shepherdess Combed wool on Dardan plain when Troy was burning Methinks Sicilian sires bred from that dame. _First lord._ By Zeus, this is bold rating. _Second lord._ 'Tis our due. 'Twixt caution's pause and the delay of shame Lies but one step, and Syracuse is on it. Courage grows agued and hunches at the hearth Forefearing enterprise. _Speu._ Can you be still? _Third lord._ No more, my lord. Here's Dionysius. [_They move into garden as Dionysius enters from street with Aristocles and other lords, and turns toward palace_] _First lord._ He's well attended. _Second lord._ Ay, let tattered vice Step out o' door and contemnation hoots It home again, while silken viciousness May march as 't will 'tween meek uncovered polls, With Flattery's footmen running neck and neck To open any gate. _First lord._ True! true! _Speu._ Talk! talk! A sword's the tongue for me! _Third lord._ The tyrant speaks. Hark, friends! _Diony._ Aristocles, excepting thee No man alive might teach me hate myself. Say what thou wilt, I'll love thee! _Third lord._ Fair enough.