THE SIEGE



  Dion.      Let 't be, my son. Let 't be.
I shall not need it any more.
  Oc.                    0 joy,
My lord!
  Cal. And joy for Heraclides' death!
  Aris. Poor man! His flattery so soon found friends
That he himself was caught by it, and thought
To gain a crown by Dion's death. E'en while
They talked-O ne'er was friendly speech so punctured-
His sword was out and aimed at Dion's bosom.
  Oc. Your blade is purple, but it should be black,
So vile his blood!               [Dion sinks to a seat]
  Cal.          My lord!
  Oc.                   Your wound! He bleeds!
o see! This stream is gushing as 'twould fill
'An ocean. Help! A surgeon!
  Dion.                    Nay, too late.
Olympus' power alone is potent here.
There's not enough of life in me to wish
For life.
  Ara. 0, Dion!
  Dion.          Kneel here, my wife.
              [Aratea kneels at Dion's sie]
                                   And you,
Aristocles, come close to me.
        [Aristocles kneels on the other side of Dion]
                         Two faces
Where more of heaven is writ than I have seen
In all the world beside. Ay, ye will pair
Like twin divinities, and haply by
The sweet conjunction of your beauteous stars
Make a new influence in the skies may draw
The world to heaven.
                   . . . Ocrastes, son, on you
Now falls the heavy weight of government.



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