74
Men crowd and jostle on Melindé’s strand hasting to sight the stranger’s glad Armade; a folk more truthful far, humane, and bland than any met on shores their course had made. Now rides the Lusian Fleet anent the land: Her pond’rous anchors now the depths invade: Forthwith a captured Moor they send to greet the King and mani’fest whence had come the Fleet.