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.