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Here will we rest. I marvel much they stand So far behind. In truth, such lusty rowers Put shame upon their skill.

A cross-set current bore them from the track, But see, they now bear on us rapidly.

They call to us.—Hola! hola! How fast they wear! they are at hand already.

Right glad I am: the Lord of Lorne, I fear, Will wait impatiently: he has already With rapid oars the nearer mainland gain'd, Where he appointed us to join him.—Ho! (Calling off the Stage.) Make to that point, my lads. (To those near him.) Here, for a little while, upon the turf We'll snatch a hasty meal, and, so refreshed, Take to our boats again.