_A lord._ Ha, Calisthenes, you need not come to bite at this bait. 'Tis a dainty morsel and only goldfish are allowed to nibble. _An old lord._ I mislike this marriage. 'Twill bring us woe, let it reach Dion's ears. _Another._ Ay, wars beyond our guess will come of it. _Young lord._ The admiral against �gisthus! _Second young lord._ Heraclides? He is much wived already. _Third young lord._ The easier to take another. _Second young lord._ �gisthus bids most fair. I take you. _Diony._ My friends, would that I had for each of you So fair a sister, and were not thus forced To choose among you. Who is first to speak? _Her._ I pray this gift, my lord. _Diony._ Brave admiral, You would stand high, perhaps the highest with us, Were't not that old wives make new enemies. _Icetes._ I'm free to give my undivided heart. _Diony._ But, good Icetes, age is creeping on you. We want a fighting arm as well as heart. Who else? No voice? Must we then hawk her up? Look on her, gentlemen! Even tears may not Disfigure her. This fit of sorrow past You'll see her smile again, those wondrous smiles You've longed in secret to make all your own. A week, a day, will put some spirit in her. _Ara._ [_Rising_] To you, my lords of Syracuse! Think not To wed the wife of Dion as she stands. You'll pluck no rose in me. This face I'll sere With constant travelling tears, till Beauty here Shall search in vain for memory of herself. My wealth I'll fling upon the air to birds And beggars. Ay, my palace shall take wings! My costly robes I'll cast into the street That common women may adorn themselves. I am no princess. I refuse the name Of aught that makes me sister to that wretch. Go seek some linen washer by a brook And find a wealthier and a prouder wife. _Diony._ Spoke I not truth, my lords? You see how fast Her spirit grows. Hear her sweet names for me? Now we'll have bidders plenty. Thanks, my sister. She'll sing, my lords, when once she's neatly caged. _�gisthus._ I beg---- _Callorus._ My lord---- _Diony._ 'Tis fit you both should speak At once, for both alike sit in my favor. �gisthus' lands are broad, but you, Callorus, Have proved a mightier leader in the field, And all in all you do deserve alike. There's none may rank above you. _Oc._ [_Stepping out_] One, my lord. _�g._ There's none! _Callo._ Let him come forth! _Diony._ Who, sir? His name. _Oc._ Ocrastes. _Diony._ You? _�g._ Ha, ha! _Oc._ Why not, my lord? _Diony._ You're Dion's heart. You cast him off?