Oth.
Oh my fair warrior!

Des.
My dear Othello.

Oth.
It gives me wonder, great as my content,
To see you here before me. My soul's joy!
If after every tempest come such calms,
May the winds blow 'till they have waken'd death:
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus high; and duck again as low
As hell's from heav'n. If I were now to die,
'Twere now to be most happy; for I fear
My soul hath her content so absolute,
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.

Des.
The heav'ns forbid,
But that our loves and comforts should increase,
Ev'n as our days do grow.

Oth.
Amen to that, sweet powers!
I cannot speak enough of this content,
It stops me here: it is too much of joy.
And this and this the greatest discords be [Kissing her.
That e'er our hearts shall make.

Jago.

Oh you are well-tun'd now; but I'll let down the pegs that make this musick, as honest as I am.

Oth.
Come, let's to the castle.
Now, friends, our wars are done; the Turks are drown'd.
How do our old acquaintance of this isle?
Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus,
I've found great love amongst them. Oh my sweet,
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote

In mine own comfort. Pr'ythee, good Jago,
Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers:
Bring thou the master to the cittadel,
He is a good one, and his worthiness
Does challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona,
Once more well met at Cyprus. [Exeunt Othello and Desdemona.

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