Of noble Syracusans, I forgive thee.
Voices. No, no!
Cal. My lord, he warned. He has a tongue
Would flatter Zeus from heaven, and common minds
He calls as flies to honey.
Dion. Nay, his sweet
Is wormwood now. Because this foolish man
Has walked in sin, shall I too blemish virtue?
Voices. Revenge! Revenge!