[Scene I.]—Cherson, two years after. The palace of Lamachus.
Asander and Gycia.
Gycia. What day is this, Asander? Canst thou tell me?
Asan. Not I, my love. All days are now alike;
The weeks fleet by, the days equivalent gems
Strung on a golden thread.
Gycia.
Thou careless darling!
I did not ask thee of the calendar.
Dost think a merchant's daughter knows not that?