Cro. Come Sir, I'll help ye in. [Exeunt.
Enter Sebastian and Nicusa.
Nicu. What may that be
That moves upon the Lake?
Sebast. Still it draws nearer,
And now I plainly can discern it.
'Tis the French Ship.
Nicu. In it a woman,
Who seems to invite us to her.
Sebast. Still she calls with signs of Love to hasten to her;
So lovely hope doth still appear:
I feel nor age, nor weakness.
Nicu. Though it bring death,
To us 'tis comfort: and deserves a meeting.
Or else fortune tyr'd with what we have suffer'd,
And in it overcome, as it may be,
Now sets a period to our misery. [Exeunt. [Horid Musick.
Enter severally, Raymond, Albert, Aminta.
Ray. What dreadful sounds are these?