We want a fighting arm as well as heart.
Who else? No voice? Must we then hawk her up?
Look on her, gentlemen! Even tears may not
Disfigure her. This fit of sorrow past
You'll see her smile again, those wondrous smiles
You've longed in secret to make all your own.
A week, a day, will put some spirit in her.
Ara. [Rising] To you, my lords of Syracuse! Think not
To wed the wife of Dion as she stands.
You'll pluck no rose in me. This face I'll sere