How now? who has put in?

Gent.
'Tis one Iago, Ancient to the General.

Cas.
H'as had most favourable and happy speed;
Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds;
The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands,
(Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel;)
As having sense of beauty, do omit
Their mortal natures, letting safe go by
The divine Desdemona.

Mont.
What is she?

Cas.
She that I spake of, our great Captain's Captain,
Left in the conduct of the bold Iago;

Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts,
A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard!
And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,
That he may bless this bay with his tall ship,
Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms,
Give renew'd fire to our extinguish'd spirits,
And bring all Cyprus comfort—

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