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?