That you should wander thus about with me
And find no home! Gallicia, that I thought
Should be our port, unkindly storm’d us out
To Salvatierra, whence before the gale
We drive to Andalusia.
Jua. Manuel,
My home is ever where you are.
Man. Oh how
Requite such love! but you shall rest awhile
Till I and the poor fellow we pick’d up