_Ara._ Tis not far down--but O, the rocks Jut up like monsters. No! You shall not do it. 'Twere death with treble pain. _Aris._ Then I'll die here. To go from your fair presence to the gods Is hardly change. _Ara._ 'Twould change the world that lost thee. Then would this isle uncrown herself of joy, And palsying shake beauty from her lap. The flowers would die in pain, and every leaf Fast wither, fade and fall, as those that moan O'er Thracian Phyllis' grave. I will not stay Without my friend. Ah no, 'twould not be life. _Aris._ The longest days are breaths, quick-drawn and short, The longest life a day to be forgot. Thou soon wouldst come. _Ara._ I could not find the way. 'Tis with your eyes, not mine, I catch the light Unalterable upon immortal brows And keep my course. _Aris._ Nay, thou'st no need of guide. Shine out, bright soul, and dim thy troubling stars. _Ara._ [_Turns aside, weeping_] You do not know! _Aris._ Be true unto the calm Of Heaven in you set. Who trust to aught That's of their souls externe but give themselves As feathers to the wind. _Ara._ [_Slowly_] My lord, this night, By Dionysius' force, my hand was given In marriage to Ocrastes. Dost thou hear? Ocrastes sails this hour for Italy. Ere he returns---- _Aris._ Thou'st whirled away my soul! O stroke of Dis! O faithless Heaven! He? Not he! Such mid-hell treachery is out Of mortal meaning! _Ara._ He is mad, I think. He loves me not. _Aris._ I'd sport a madman too! Wear lunacy as doth a king his purple, If that would draw a goddess from the skies To quiet in my arms! Did it not strain Forbearance to the snap that Dion--whose wisdom Humbles the mouth of Zeus--whose justice is The boast of shades when Rhadamanthus blunders-- Should wear the chiefest pearl to mortals cast-- Sweet Beauty's sole extravagance--as 'twere A something to be stained with human love And gods not question it? Who then could see It made the common booty of a thief, Nor break the cable of a mind controlled And lose the shore of reason? Who? _Ara._ [_Kneeling_] Be calm If thou wouldst help me. _Aris._ [_Not heeding_] Pity, weep, weep, weep! O, from thy woeful heaven cast a dew As universal as the East when she To every herb throws pearls! _Ara._ [_Leaping up_] The guards! They come! But I go with thee, sir. 'Tis not farewell.