My father's coffers are unopened yet,
And ships are sailing here will fill my own.
My slaves might meet an army, and I'll put
A sword in every hand for Syracuse.
In rank I bow to none. The blood of Pollis,
First king of Syracuse, runs yet in me,
And even Dionysius' royal self
Yields to my line the birthright courtesy.
Diony. Enough. Now Dion's cause falls down. Enough!
Come to our heart, Ocrastes! There's not one