Aris. The winds that fan me hence
Will be as welcome as the breeze that lifts
The sail of calm-bound mariners that long
Have in mid-ocean rocked and dreamed of food.
Diony. No, no, my friend! Thou shalt not go from me!
Dost call thyself philosopher, and take
First chance to fly thy duty here? Hear you,
Lord admiral. Watch every gate nor let
This bold man pass. Sink the Sicilian fleet
Ere you do spare a ship for hire or pity