Win. A witch i' the pot, your lordships.
Ger. For those five
There's fifty of the French gone to the bottom.
The rest are scattered wide, with crippled sails
Begging the winds for mercy.
Hen. Hark, my lords!
Divinity is here. [To Gersa] How was this done?
What know you of the battle?
Ger. When we met
The opposing fleet, we crept by swift and silent,