Aris. What hap of winds, think you, may shake
The monarch towers of the soul?
Oc. Forgive me,
Aristocles. Thou sun immovable!
How like Hyperion fixed in calm you shine,
And riot's faction in my blood grows still
With looking on thee. I'll to court and strive
With sober measure to effect repeal
Of Dion's banishment. And failing that,
I yet may save for him his untouched wealth. [Going, turns]