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 the fleet.

Mont.
How! is this true?

3 Gent.
The Ship is here put in,
A Veronessa; Michael Cassio,
Lieutenant of the warlike Moor Othello,
Is come on shore; the Moor himself's at sea,
And is in full commission here for Cyprus.

Mont.
I'm 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.

Mont.
Pray heav'ns he be:
For I have serv'd him, and the man commands
Like a full soldier. Let's to the sea-side,
As well to see the vessel that's come in,
As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,
Even till we make the main and th' aerial blue
An indistinct regard.

Gent.
Come, let's do so;
For every minute is expectancy
Of more arrivance.

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