About them flew, and fild their sayles with feare:
Yet stayd they not, but forward did proceed,
Whiles th’one did row, and th’other stifly steare;
Till that at last the weather gan to cleare,
And the faire land it selfe did plainly show.
Said then the Palmer, Lo where does appeare
The sacred soile, where all our perils grow;
Therefore, Sir knight, your ready armes about you throw.
He hearkned, and his armes about him tooke, xxxviii
The whiles the nimble boate so well her sped,