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.