[To Heraclides] Hear you, sir?
Choose out your ship. Aristocles, farewell.
Talk not of me i' the Acad�me.
Aris. My lord,
The gods take care we've no such dearth of matter.
Farewell.
Diony. [As Aristocles turns to go] Dost mean it?
Nay! Spoil not my jest.
Canst take offence from one who loveth thee?
In truth wouldst go?