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Men preserved from storm and tide And fire and battle raging wide; What shall subdue our steady faith, Or of our heads a hair shall skathe? Men preserv'd in gladness weeping, Praise him, who hath alway our souls in holy keeping.

And wheresoe'er in earth or sea Our spot of rest at last shall be; Our swords in many a glorious field, Surviving heroes still shall wield, While we our faithful toils are reaping With him, who hath alway our souls in holy keeping.

Aur. Speak to them, Bastiani; thou'rt a soldier; Thy mind is more composed.—I pray thee do. (Motioning Bast. to accost them.)

Bast. This lady, noble Warriors, greets you all, And offers you such hospitality As this late hour and scanty means afford. Wilt please ye round this blazing fire to rest? After such perilous tossing on the waves, You needs must be forspent.

1st Knight. We thank you, Sir, and this most noble dame,