The couch of sleep. Be our friend, we will not part.
Gon. Be all thy friends thus faithful, for e’en yet
They may be fiercely tried.
Seb. I doubt them not.
Even now my heart beats high to meet their welcome.
Let us away!
Gon. Yet hear once more, my liege.
The humblest pilgrim, from his distant shrine
Returning, finds not e’en his peasant home
Unchanged amidst its vineyards. Some loved face,