_Oc._ You ask For proof? I take his wife. Were I to warm My fingers in his blood, I'd have more hope That he would rise and bless me than to keep His love while she lies on my bosom. _Ara._ O! _Oc._ I challenge any here to match my claim. This is the sword, my lord, that held the city Against the Tarentines when these brave nobles Trembled behind their fast shut doors. _�g._ 'Tis false! _Oc._ All know 'tis true. Since boasting now's a virtue, I'll do it well. Who wore the laurel wreath That saved all Sicily a spreading blush The day the Carthaginian youths were sent Defeated home? You ask for wealth? My vineyards Run to the wilderness. My corn now greens On �tna's slope and yellows by the Gela. My father's coffers are unopened yet, And ships are sailing here will fill my own. My slaves might meet an army, and I'll put A sword in every hand for Syracuse. In rank I bow to none. The blood of Pollis, First king of Syracuse, runs yet in me, And even Dionysius' royal self Yields to my line the birthright courtesy. _Diony._ Enough. Now Dion's cause falls down. Enough! Come to our heart, Ocrastes! There's not one We'd rather win to us. _Speu._ [_Aside_] O, Dion, now all Forsake thee but calamity, that like A covetous ill wife hangs on thy fortune! _Diony._ By Pluto, no more fear! Our throne is safe! _Oc._ My lord---- _Diony._ Nay, brother! _Oc._ Pray be warned by one Who knows too well your need. Not all the troops Of broadest Sicily may keep you safe When Dion comes from Greece. Men swarm to him As he were golden Saturn giving off New fortunes with each breath. Send me with speed To Italy. There I have friends shall be Your own, and pour a fleet into your harbor Will turn lord Dion pale when next his eye Scans Syracusan waters. _Diony._ Italy? We'll think of it. You're the true warrior stuff, Planning campaigns with the same breath you win A royal bride. We like you better for it, But she may like you less. Give her a word. _Oc._ O, fairest woman that ever made the earth More sweet and beauteous to live upon, You'll find in me a true and gentle lord. These tears I'll teach to run a smiling race And in a happy death forget their birth. [_Attempts to embrace her_] _Ara._ Open the prisons, call some convict forth, And I will wed him, but not you! These lords Have hated Dion, have not lived upon His constant kindness. You have drunk his love Like flowing wine, and lived by it! _Oc._ Rail on, If railing pleases you. In aftertime You'll love the better for it.