  Scene 1. A pavilion in vineyard near Dion's house. Enter Dion and Aristocles, followed by Brentio and Tichus. Dion. That Dionysius bends the neck of pomp To do you honor, shows an eye yet false To your true merit. Aris. But 'tis better, Dion, Than to have found his frowning archers planted Point to our landing ship. Dion. He'd not have dared To greet you so, but this vain, strutting show Wrongs you no less. Dion. Ay, friend. The mines of earth into one coffer poured Would not enrich a spendthrift or insure Him linen for a shroud. If you can not Prevail with him—If? Nay, you will. All ifs Lie down before your wooing argument. Aris. I knew his father when the years had stripped His agued soul, and his untutored age Looked from a crabbed eye upon the world. For him I would not have a second time Foregone Athenian groves, but youth that keeps An open door to Wisdom as to Folly, May even of Virtue make at last a guest. Dion. My hope is born again, now you are here. When I have seen pick-thank philosophers At ear of Dionysius, seeding his mind— Wherein my toil had set fair Ceres' garden— With foul and flaunting weeds to overrun My country, I have been tempted to forego The idle reaping, uplay the soil itself, And with some few and trusted followers Rouse a new Spring to breed us gracious harvest. Aris. But he who strikes at heritage gives riot Fair leave to play above his trampled grave, And rather than usurp a wrong with right, You bend your strength to make the wrong a virtue. Dion. Ay, so the young tyrant has my knee, but thus To keep my mind at bow and flexure proves My patience 'fore the gods. Welcome the day When I may honor Truth in honoring The head of rule in my belov?d city! But now no more of state austerities; I would be glad one hour and nurse the joy Of seeing thee. Thou'st brought me half my heart That kept with thee in Athens. Bren. My lord, The mistress comes. Dion. Since you sailed; To Aratea, Dionysius' sister, But as unlike him as the eternal sky To moody ocean. Aris. Married? That the word? Dion. Fast bound, indeed, to one who will not break Our souls' knit circle. She is Virtue's servant, And wears her fairest flower, beauty. Tich. [Aside, as Dion looks off left to see if Aratea approaches] Ha! A beauty! I will warrant it. There be Some ugly wives i' the world but no man married 'em. Dion. [To Brentio] Come, sir. What entertainment is provided? [Dion talks aside with slave] Aris. So goes my friend. He who was happiest lost In the vast solitude of a noble book, Or Truth's deep-pathed discourse. A wife. Is this My journey's end? That little haven whence No harbored sail dares sea? Port of delay, And pocket of emprise, whose shallows oft Have sunk the mightiest hope of greatest states! Ser. [To Dion] My lord, the captain of the harbor waits. Dion. [To Aristocles] One moment, friend. [Exit, right] Aris. That lordly soul a-dream In woman's arms! That heaven-cleaving mind At fireside tattle with a gossip dame! Now comes the sunward ranging eagle down To sit by nest, a tame prudential spouse. Where sped the proud ambassador of morn On wings that clipped the burning orient, Hovers the cautious mate at pains to find A youngling's breakfast. Dion. Come, my friend. You're skilled In harbor matters, and I need your word. [Exeunt Dion and Aristocles, right] Bren. Is your wise man married? Tich. That's a fool's question. Bren. True, but— Peace! Yonder comes the mistress. I must be off. "Entertainment," quoth my lord. Which means a gentle sally of honest nymphs, and a sort of mild, virtuous music at hide-and-seek in the vineyard. You must to court if you would know how wenches can trip in Sicily. Come, brother stranger. I'll take care o' your enjoyments. You shall see us with both eyes, I promise you. [Exeunt Brentio and Tichus. Enter, left, Aratea, Theano, Nauresta, Ocrastes and Phillistus]
Ara. I'm not convinced, Phillistus. Who may search The wreckage 'neath a smile, or count the tears Deep in a stoic eye? Let us believe Aristocles is not in nature cold As his philosophy. Oc. I'll freeze my sword A winter night, then warm his heart by 't. Cold! The. Now we hear! What is this marvel like? Oc. A frozen god. Apollo cast in snow. Phil. Sicilian suns Are warm. Oc. He's proof 'gainst sun. Why, he doth cool His liver with his blood,—hath not a stir Of whetted sense, be 't anger, love or pain, To prick him mortal. Ara. He is young to be So true a sage. The. They come. Prepare, O eyes, To wonder! [Re-enter Dion and Aristocles] Ara. [Advancing] Welcome, noble Athenian. Your fame has oft made voyage to our shore, And we rejoice that now you follow it. Please know my friends. Dion. [To Aratea, as Aristocles greets the others] Why is Phillistus here? Are we so poor, my dame, the enemy Must sauce our feast? Nay, nay! Ara. I hope, my lord, My brother's subjects are not enemies. Phil. [Who has stood apart, approaches Aristocles] Welcome to Sicily, although your breath is somewhat frosty for our warmer pleasures. Ara. [As Dion frowns] The frost that draws the poison, saves the flower, you mean, my good Phillistus. Aris. A fair interpreter! Phil. Ay, when we know not our meaning, let a woman find it. Oc. Which she will do the more readily if we mean nothing. The. True, her wit is generous. She'll always bait a hook that angles painfully. Oc. Though she, good soul, must hang herself upon it. [Theano and Ocrastes move aside, bantering. Aratea turns to Phillistus and Nauresta]
Dion. [To Aristocles] Ocrastes is a youth full dear to me. Orphaned at birth, I've bred him from a babe. He is of bravest heart, and must leap high Although he fall o'er heaven. Dion. The daughter of my brother some years dead. Her bloom might make e'en priestly blood forget To pace with vows, but she is true, and kneels To wisdom's star. Hast yet no eye for woman? Aris. For all things fair. That is my staff 'gainst age. We're young so long as we love beauty. [Aratea moves to Dion and Aristocles, leaving Nauresta and Phillistus together] Nau. See This feathered snuggery? Phil. A vine-lark's nest. Nau. Touch 't not. We'll lose a song by you. 'Tis strange These dare-wings build about our heads, when they So fear us. Phil. Farther. Birds are not my study. Nau. Frowning again, my lord? Phil. And reason for it. I like not yonder pairing. [Looks at Theano and Ocrastes] Nau. Would that your plans Might leave them happy! Phil. False? I'll not believe it Of thee, Nauresta. I've given thee confidence As open as the ungated dawn; unlocked My secrets; fixed within your breast, as in My own, my darling purpose! Nau. 'Twas my counsel In Aratea's ear that brought you hither. And why these dark reproaches where I hoped To see the color of your gratitude? Phil. What's done, though ne'er so well, but makes a way For what's to do, Nauresta. Nau. Ah, my lord, I know not how to please you. Phil. Learn. To me Be wax, and adamant to all touch else. Mad Dionysius is in revels lost; Dion is far too stern for common love; Between the two my hope makes fair ascent Above the clouds of state. 'Tis I must reign. Then we, my queen, must see our daughter wed To some strong noble who will prop our power. Ocrastes' love is bound inseverably To Dion. Keep him from Theano, sweet. Look on them now. See how she bends to him? Nau. Nay, she is modest, sir. Phil. But mark! He speaks, And crimson runs her cheek, as though his voice Did paint it magically, which bids him fair, For know you not that love on blushes feeds As plundering bees on roses? He is sure! 'Twill task you hard to ward from port who bears So bold a sail. Nau. But I will do it. Ay! Phil. Again you are all mine! [Nauresta moves to Theano and Ocrastes] Thus do I woo The mother, with the daughter in my eye. Ara. [To Aristocles] Ah, yes, I know you'll cast fond sighs toward Athens, And in the night look through the dark to her— A myrtle-crown?d bride without her lord— But yet our land, too poor in Ceres' smile To outwoo Acad?me, may show some charm To ease your banishment. Aris. O, 'tis an isle That 'neath the eye of Zeus might bloom nor blush Save at his praise; yet holds within itself Treasure that ornaments its cruder worth As gems make eyes in stone,—a friend whose hand Leads Virtue's own, and woman's beauty crowned By starry mind as I ne'er hoped to see Till at the port of the immortal world My eyes should meet my dreams. Dion. What now? So soon, Aristocles? Dion. I knew she'd find The gate to your forgiveness. Phil. [Aside] My tongue creaks Amid this piping. Dion. True, she's fair enough For praise, but I'm a plain prose lover, friend, Nor, like a doting osier o'er a brook, Pore on her features, wasting oil of time That should burn high in task of gods and state. Phil. [Aside] I'll cast a pebble in this summer pool. [To Aristocles] Sir, you will find our Dionysius worthy, The proud descendant of a prouder sire, Upholding well his shining heritage. Aris. Worthy I hope he is, but even kings, My lord, may wrap them in humility, Nor boast descent, when demigods of earth But bastards are in heaven. Dion. Ay, some of us Should curvet not so high, bethinking of Our audience in the clouds; for this brave world Is but a theatre whereto the gods For pastime look, and whoso makes most show Of plumes careering and proud-lifting stride Is but the greatest anticker of all To their high eyes. A little music, friends. Phil. And in good time! A sermon then a song. [Enter dancers, the two in advance bearing urns which they place on a small altar, singing] Bring cedar dark, And ruby-wood, Bring honeyed-bark, The Naiad's food, Till altar flame And incense rise In friendship's name To seek the skies. [Chorus by maidens bearing wreaths of olive and laurel] Myrtle leave on Venus' tree, Nor the Bacchic ivy see; Olive bring, and laurel bough. And may hours that gather now Of his years fair token be! [They bow before Aristocles and continue dancing] Aris. [Watching Aratea] The sun has made a shrine of her bright hair Where eyes would worship, but her fairer face Lures their devotion ere they gaze one prayer. Phil. [Crossing to Aristocles] Aristocles, I swear yon dancer's foot, Curving the air, marks beauty of more worth Than all the fantasies of dream you write On heavens conjectural. Dion. [Angrily to Phillistus] It suits you well To treat the theme deific with bold tongue. No thought so high but you would trick it out In shrugging sophistry! Phil. [Going] Farewell. The court Has always welcome for me. Dion. Farewell, my lord. And Ceres send you grace! Phil. [Turning] Beware, proud Dion! The topmost limb makes an uneasy seat. Who perches there must take account of winds, Lest dignity go forfeit to surprise. By Jaso, sir, your cause is fallen sick, Nor Athens emptying all her wits may heal it! [Exit] Ara. My lord, a little patience—— Dion. Patience, madam! Would words were meat for swords! I'd had his crop! [Enter a royal messenger] Mess. Most noble Dion, greeting from the king. He begs you'll bring the Athenian sage to banquet, And see some shows within the royal gardens. Dion. More revels! More? This cracks the very glass Of our fair prospect, wherein we saw him sit With listening ear to wisdom. [To messenger] No! Dion. Say to the tyrant I'll not feast with him. [Exit messenger] Ara. May I be bold to say this is not well? I fear, my lord, your stern, imperious port Is much against you in our easeful city. If on occasion you would smooth your brow To patient lenience you in time would win All hearts to wear the livery of your purpose, That now shows cold and sober for their mood. Dion. Not so! The bending tree ne'er kissed the clouds. I will not stoop! What? Flaunt his sport before A sage's eye, who comes at his own suit To teach him truth? Aris. Yet we must not forget Discourteous truth is hated; vehemence, The whip of argument, but frights conviction. Pardon so stale a word. Ara. But 'tis so true! The winding zephyr, not the hurrying gale, Finds out the hidden rose. My brother's heart Has yet a grain of good, which gentleness May find and touch to life. Dion. It was the slight, The unseemly slight to you, Aristocles, So chafed me. Aris. Think but of our charge, my friend, Fair Syracuse. Dion. So, so! I say no more. Your wisdom be to me Athene's shield Whereby I'll see to strike this head of wrong Nor be devoured. Come, we will walk abroad. But not to court. Aris. [To Aratea] My wishes wait on thee. May Fortune dress thee for a second self Till eyes mistaking seek thy face for hers. Ara. Nay, let her wed thee, and like loving wife Give all her portion, then empty-handed pluck New grace from heaven to adorn thee still. [Exeunt Dion and Aristocles] Nau. Now, Aratea, the song of praise! Which of the gods is he most like? Ara. Like none of them. Jove is long-bearded, Neptune has forgot to walk, Mercury is boyish, Apollo like a woman, and Mars so heavy-footed he would stumble mocking the grace of Aristocles! Nau. 'Tis plain a curious eye will never take you to Olympus, since you've seen the Athenian. Ara. I own I have a sudden comfort from this gentle sage. Nau. What is it? Ara. You know my Dion has one only fault. Nau. O, all but perfect man! Ara. He is so true that he is stern as truth. Nau. That's truth indeed! Ara. So just that he is harsh as Justice' self. Nau. Another truth! Ara. So good that—— Nau. What! More of this singular fault? Ara. This Athens' tongue, so sweetly mediate, Will lead the people's love unto my lord, Who now upholds the state in thankless sort. They honor and admire, but keep their hearts For those who woo them! Ah, I blame them not. Oc. Dion need borrow no Athenian tongue To speak for him. Nau. You'll hear no voice denies Him perfect praise. The. None, Ocrastes, none. How like a gem unpriced His rich simplicity doth shine amid The purpled show of lords! It is as though The sovereign alkahest, weary of law, Had given the scorn?d pebble leave to glow The fairest eye of all the pearl?d shore. Ara. They'll sing us deaf, Nauresta, on this theme. But come. [Draws Nauresta away] Come, madam, come! We must prepare Some good-wife pleasure for my lord's return. [Exeunt Aratea and Nauresta, left] Oc. [Embracing Theano] My love! At last! O goddess Patience, how Thou muffledst me! Time crept on thousand legs And each one crippled. The. Ay, so slow the hour Moved to this golden now I thought each moment Turned back to seek some loss and spent itself A second time. Oc. Now all the world's at morn. How young we are, Theano! O, 'tis true Life is at tick of dawn when love begins. The. I'm older then than you, for I 'gan love The day you won the laurel from proud Carthage. In the wild race how like a shooting star You made a heaven of earth's grosser air! And 'twas that day I heard old warriors say Your lance would dare prick ope the clouds till Mars Looked forth to combat. Ah, I scarce believe Our island's easy lap did bear you, and thank The gods that wealth, whose poison-pampered tooth Likes best the marrow-sweet of youth, has left You still a man. Oc. Truth weeps when lovers talk, But where is sound more sweet? All that I am I owe to Dion. Give to him the praise, If praise is due, and you would please me best. The. Thy approbation is my glass of merit, And there alone am I array?d fair, Yet for his sake, not yours, I love lord Dion. 'Tis wonder's hour in wonder's day he should So fit his life, despite the careless time, To please the gods. Oc. When shall we tell him, love, Of this new joy of ours? Oc. Didst note her frown? What has so changed her, sweet? The. I find her troubled late, as she would soothe Her breast above some panting mystery. Oc. She must disclose the cause, and show if 't has An honest face. I'll have no mincing doubts And ghostly secrets peering on our love. The. She is our gentle mother. Wait, my heart! Oc. Phillistus is too often at her ear. Have guard against him. In his smoothest words He'll subtly seat a devil to confound you. 'Tis pity. Eloquence is the flute o' the soul, Which virtue alone should play, for good or bad It has immortal consequence. The. He was My father's friend, and well may be my mother's. Oc. Ah, but he coos too near her widowed nest. The. Ocrastes! Can you dare? My noble mother! Whose sorrows sit like shadows in her eye? Whose loyal breast asks no embrace less chill Than the cold tomb where my dear father lies? The. Unsay it, O, unsay it! Oc. Ay, by our island's god, 'twas never spoken! The. I've scarce a breath, Ocrastes. Oc. And that breath This kiss must drink. You will forgive? Speak not. These clinging lips have told me. A kiss, Theano, Unseals all secrets but to be their grave. Then we know all, and all we know's forgot. 'Tis saying true, a kiss is worth the world, When, having it, there's no world but a kiss. [Re-enter Nauresta and Aratea, left] Nau. [Crossing to Theano] Still here, my daughter? Bren. O, mistress, the master is coming with Dionysius. Since he would not take the Athenian to court, the court is coming hither. Oc. Here? 'Tis a strange declension of his pride. Ara. I fear 'tis cover for a thrust 'gainst Dion. Oc. No! Virtue such as his is heavened above The reach of sceptres. Ara. But he was too bold In his refusal to attend the feast. They come! And Dionysius' brow is like A new, unclouded sun. No eyes for us! [Enter Dionysius, Aristocles, Dion, and lords] Diony. [To Aristocles] Speak on, nor cease t' enchant my rous?d ear, Although thy words, like honey from the isle Where Ate fell, are something mixed with bitter. But give me not to virtue suddenly, Lest she disdain the greening, unripe fruit, And from her sun I do forever fall. Dion. Heed then his counsel, Dionysius. A ruler is the state's bountificer,— High warden at the gates of happy good,— And when he turns unto himself the stream That should make fair his country, he is damned As oft a robber as his subjects count. Each man he meets may claim his golden coat! Diony. What's your rough meaning, sir? Aris. 'Tis this, my lord. Here is a land born in a dream of Nature, And given to man to please her waking eyes Until she thinks that yet she dreams. His task To build the adorning temple, turn groves retired To happy shades where wisdom meets with youth, And with triumphant art set statued thought To gleam abroad from every favored spot Till e'en the flattered gods be tempted here In marble fair to wait on mortal eyes, And genius roam in generation free, Breathing the constant good of mind aspiring, Till not a clod, be it or earth or human, But knows a smile to make itself more fair. How should it grieve thee then to see the pomp Of one, sole, only man heave with the weight Of all the state, and wear in barren pride The fertile beauty of his golden isle? Diony. Divine Athenian, if I be that man, Be thou the master of my realm till I Have learned what 'tis to be one. Teach me here My first new duty. Dion. Check debauching riot That sluices now the palace! Cease these feasts That fume to heaven like Hecate's brewing-vats! Nay, sir, those scowls unwrite your waterish vow. Aris. Our Dion means, my lord, that virtue wanes As revels wax; and yet an hour of rest The gods allow us. I myself have trained Young figures for the dance that wreathes with grace The needful, idle hour. Diony. You leave us music? Aris. Ay, 'tis the angel 'tween the sense and soul, A hand on each, that one may feel the touch Of purest heaven mid rosy revelling, The other catch sweet trembles of a wave That shake her calm till white cheek meets the rose. Diony. And feasting, sir? Aris. Nay, there's the soul's expense For what o'erdims her fair, majestic visions; But fruits of sheltered vales grow lush for man, And awny grasses droop with sugared grains, And wine, tempered to reason's flow, oft lights The questing mind. Diony. Enough! No groaning board That shifts its burden to the spirit! No revel To pleasure Pleasure! Naught but what is meet For fair philosophy's relaxive hour! Adrastus, see 'tis done. Go instantly! [Exit Adrastus] Dion, you're for the harbor? Diony. Which we must grant. Your business is our own. Dion. Most welcome son. Adieu. [Exeunt Dion and Ocrastes] Ara. Brother, 'tis long since you have visited me. I hold a magnet now in our new friend Will draw you to my house. Diony. Nay, I must rob you. The palace is his home. Diony. I'll yield to-day, but not an hour beyond To-morrow's sun. Adieu, Aristocles. Give me thy love; I'll give thee Syracuse. [Exeunt Dionysius and lords] Ara. [To Aristocles] We have some statues in the garden, sir, May please an eye from Athens. Will you come? [Exeunt Aratea and Aristocles] The. Mother, why look so darkly on Ocrastes? Nau. Darkly, my daughter? The. Has he not a soul As truly virtuous as his face is fair? Nau. True, but he's not for you. Believe it. Nau. Nor grieve my heart with pleading to know more. Some day I'll speak, but now my bosom's locked With key not in my hands. The. Mother, I pray You'll give no more a flattered, willing ear To lord Phillistus' tongue. The. I do not know. I am disturbed by him. I scarce can tell you how. Nau. To call him friend But proves my loyalty to the loved dead. The. I do not doubt my mother! No, no, no! But him I fear. His eye speaks muddily, And echoes not his words. Nau. No more of this! You prattle, child. Say that he loves me—— Nau. Yet were he villain, is not love The soul's sweet cleanser and redeeming incense? The. The serpent and the bee make food and venom Of the same flower's sweetness; so fair minds In love enlarge with merit, while villainy, Sucking such sweet, swells rank and poisonous. Nau. No more, my daughter! Nau. Good-day, my lords! You are early from the play. Did it not please you? First courtier. Tame, tame. I'd not have left my couch at the bath for such. And Dracon's tongue was middle of a pretty tale. Nau. But the banquet—why stayed you not for that? Second courtier. Have you not heard? The seven evil winds have struck the feast, and left but fruit and wine. My wife's as good a cook. Can serve a plate of figs! Nau. What's this? First courtier. As we say. Our delectable gardens are smit with sudden prudent frost. The mullein and the plantain shortly will grow where we have plucked luxuriance' rose. [Enter Aratea and Aristocles] Nau. What do you mean, my lord? First courtier. [Looking at Aristocles] The wind is all too near that wrought this havoc. Aris. Nay, have no fear for Dion. You wrong this hour of promise. Your brother yields us much. Ara. Indeed too much! These sudden born desires are to be feared in him. Ah, here's Ocrastes. Nau. He's much disturbed. I know that brow. [Re-enter Ocrastes, right] The. Ocrastes? Oc. Now heavens shake for what mine eyes have seen! I followed Dion to the southern shore Where the new pinnace floats beneath the castle, And there Domenes held him in close talk, When suddenly ere wink could question it, The soldiers had him bound within a boat Outrowing to the pinnace, which took him up And bent to sea like an embodied wind. But that a score of traitor arms enforced me The waves had kept me not on hated land! Surprise so stormed him Dion scarce could call "Revenge me not, but seek to calm the city!" Then from the pinnace a relenting boat Brought this short writing. 'Tis for Aratea. Ara. Read—read—Ocrastes—I—I can not see. Oc. [Reads] Aristocles will be thy comfort. Bid him not forget Syracuse to think of me. Now that the thorny counsellor is plucked from court, he can do much with Dionysius. Ocrastes will be to thee a brother of more love than ever was the tyrant. Sweet, farewell. 'Tis from thine eyes I'm banished, not thy heart. Ara. O Dion, Dion! My unhappy lord! Aris. Abate thy grief, dear lady. Affliction is The night of man where stars his lustrous soul That in a happy sun would pale unseen. Ara. My brother! 'Tis his treacherous hand! O, me! Now heaven and earth be naught, I care not! [Exeunt Aratea, Nauresta, Theano and attendants] A courtier. Come! There's more to this. Another. Ay, friends, let's to the streets. [Courtiers hurry away. Ocrastes and Aristocles alone] Oc. I'll rouse the populace! Aris. No, you will calm it. Oc. Sir, I was knit in heat and tempered mortal! Your natal star was cold when you were born, Dead in the heavens, had long forgot its fire, And could not give one twinkle's warmth to you! I've blood, and know my friends! Aris. Dost think that sorrow Lives only in hot brows? No angers be That rage not on the tongue? Aris. Here sweep the tides that prove it. Aris. Who keeps his heart astir with his own woe Has never room for others. Let us put Our paltry love aside and seek the good Of all the city, not of one because He is our friend. Think not a man may leave Life's reefed and breakered straits behind and reach Philosophy's still-waved almighty sea With selfish sorrow's mottled pilot eye. Oc. And you've a mortal pulse? Can love and die? Aris. I am as you, Ocrastes,—heart and limb,— But I have given my kingdom to my soul, And throned secure above the body's chance Rock not with its misfortune. Oc. Who can keep Such sovereign state, my lord? Art never torn Or shaken? Aris. What hap of winds, think you, may shake The monarch towers of the soul? Oc. Forgive me, Aristocles. Thou sun immovable! How like Hyperion fixed in calm you shine, And riot's faction in my blood grows still With looking on thee. I'll to court and strive With sober measure to effect repeal Of Dion's banishment. And failing that, I yet may save for him his untouched wealth. [Going, turns] Is it not lonely on the serene height, My lord? Aris. The gods are sometimes there. [Exit Ocrastes] The gods? Vain words on vainer tongue. O, man, man, man! Weak child of limit and unwinged desire, Coping with deity in daring bout, And drowned at last within a woman's tear! ... Hyperion fixed in calm. Ay, true it is That in the heaven of my sphering mind I've reached the pause solstitial. And would fain Take comet course on new, unbidden track Than traverse o'er the stale appointed route. Ay, break the orbit's fond and placid round, And swim a wonder to the staring suns! The end is death,—and yet a comet's death. The rushing wings are round me, bear me up, And drive me like a meteor charging doom, When Aratea veils me with her eyes.
Tich. [Aside, noting Aristocles' groan] Ho, for ill that's past and ill that is to come, philosophy has ever a saw, but in a present pinch speaks not for groaning!... My lord, the lady Aratea asks for word with you. Aris. [Hesitating] Tell her ... I come. [Curtain]
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