For every hour of your ungracious star,
With the full circuit of a smiling moon
I'll pension you, till covetous of time
You'll wish your sorrows had been more, not less.
Dion. Not one embrace for me?
Oc. Before I make
My plea for pardon?
Dion. That may wait, my son,
For empty hours. This is too full of joy.
Oc. I did not go to Italy, my lord,