48
Waving their raiment and their hands they signèd the Lusitanian folk to wait awhile: but our light Prores their course had now inclinèd to strike where shelter’d by the nearest isle: Soldiers and sailors in one toil conjoinèd as though were here the period of their toil: They take in sail, and strike the lofty spar, and Ocean, anchor-smit, froths high in air.