Ath. Now thou believest.
Ul.See, there be the firs,
Which eastward of my house bar the red dawn
With black, and in their feathery tops at night
Sigh to the moon. Ay, and my house I see
Unchanged. ’Tis Ithaca.
Ath.Wilt thou not go
Now to thy home, and with the sweet surprise
Of thy desired return gladden thy wife,
And greet thy son, a man, whom thou didst leave