Leonor. Who’s that?
Adm. Look, some one with erect head and vigorous arms, buffeting the wave before him.
Leonor. With another on his shoulders too.
Adm. (to Pedro). Now, would you win an earnest of future favour, plunge in to his assistance.
Ped. I would, sir, but I’m a wretched swimmer.
Leonor. They have reacht the shore at last.
Enter Gil Perez and Alonso, drencht.
Alon. Thank Heaven for our escape!
Gil. Ah, we’re well quit of it.