Mon. Methinks, the wind hath spoke aloud at land: A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements: If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, Can hold the mortise? what shall we hear of this? 2 Gent. A segregation2 of the Turkish fleet: For do but stand upon the foaming shore, The chiding billow seems to pelt the clouds; The wind-shak'd surge, with high and monstrous main, Seems to cast water on the burning bear,3 And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole: On th' enchafed flood. Mon. If that the Turkish fleet Be not inshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd; It is impossible they bear it out. Enter a third Gentleman. 3 Gent. News, lords! our wars are done, The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, That their designment halts: A noble ship of Venice Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance On most part of their fleet. Mon. How is this true? 3 Gent. The ship is here put in, A Veronesé; Michael Cassio, Lieutenant to the warlike Moor, Othello, Is come on shore: the Moor himself's at sea, And is in full commission here for Cyprus. 2 Separation. 3 The constellation near the polar star. Mon. I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. 3 Gent. But this same Cassio,-though he speak of comfort, Touching the Turkish loss,-yet he looks sadly, And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted With foul and violent tempest. Mon. 'Pray heaven he be; For I have serv'd him, and the man commands Like a full soldier. Let's to the sea-side, ho! As well to see the vessel that's come in, As throw out our eyes for brave Othello; Even till we make the main, and the aerial blue, 3 Gent. Come, let's do so; For every minute is expectancy Of more arrivance. Enter CASSIO. Cas. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike isle, That so approve the Moor; O, let the heavens Give him defence against the elements, For I have lost him on a dangerous sea! Mon. Is he well shipp'd? Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot Of very expert and approv'd allowance ;5 4 Gent. The town is empty; on the brow o'the sea Stand ranks of people, and they cry-a sail. Cus. My hopes do shape him for the governour. Our friends, at least. Cas. pray you, sir, go forth, And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd. 2 Gent. I shall. [Exit. Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv'd? Cas. Most fortunately: he hath achiev'd a maid That paragons description, and wild fame; One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, And in the essential vesture of creation, Does bear all excellency.-How now? who has put in ? Re-enter second Gentleman. 2 Gent. 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general. Their mortal natures, letting go safely by Mon. What is she? Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's cap tain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago; VOL. X. Deadly, destructive. Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, A se'nnight's speed.-Great Jove, Othello guard, Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Attendants. The riches of the ship is come on shore! Des. Des. O, but I fear;-How lost you company? Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship: But, hark! a sail. [Cry within, A sail, a sail! Then Guns heard. 2 Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel; This likewise is a friend. Cas. See for the news. [Exit Gentleman. [TO EMILIA. Good ancient, you are welcome;-Welcome, mis tress: Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding [Kissing her. Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips, As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, You'd have enough. Des. Alas, she has no speech. Iago. In faith, too much; I find it still, when I have list 7 to sleep: Emil. You have little cause to say so. Iago. Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens, Des. O, fye upon thee, slanderer! Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk; You rise to play, and go to bed to work. Emil. You shall not write my praise. Iago. No, let me not. Des. What would'st thou write of me, if thou should'st praise me? Iago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't; For I am nothing, if not critical. Des. Come on, assay:-There's one gone to the harbour? Iago. Ay, madam. Des. I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. |