Sometimes write in our fates that to seek death
Is what will solely please them.
Aris. Must I see
The sun of justice in you set?
Dion. Ah, friend,
Do you not see 'tis my desire that cries
To keep her still? 'Tis passion weighing doubts,
Hoping to find them light as rising vapors.
Aris. Though she had struck at life within her heart,
Swart Atropos had dropped her shears for pity,