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Then shall the wanderer turn his steps, and seek His orient wilds again.

Sebast.Be near me still, And ever, oh my warrior! I shall stand Again amidst my hosts, a mail-clad king, Begirt with spears and banners, and the pomp And the proud sounds of battle. Be thy place Then at my side. When doth a monarch cease To need true hearts, bold hands? Not in the field Of arms, nor on the throne of power, nor yet The couch of sleep. Be our friend, we will not part.

Gonzal. Be all thy friends then faithful, for even yet They may be fiercely tried.

Sebast.I doubt them not. Even now my heart beats high to meet their welcome, Let us away!

Gonzal. Yet hear once more, my liege, The humblest pilgrim, from his distant shrine Returning, finds not even his peasant home Unchanged amidst its vineyards. Some loved face