Oth. I look down towards his feet; but that's a Fable,
If that thou bee'st a Diuell, I cannot kill thee
Lod. Wrench his Sword from him
Iago. I bleed Sir, but not kill'd
Othel. I am not sorry neither, Il'd haue thee liue:
For in my sense, 'tis happinesse to die
Lod. Oh thou Othello, that was once so good,
Falne in the practise of a cursed Slaue,
What shall be saide to thee
Oth. Why any thing:
An honourable Murderer, if you will:
For nought I did in hate, but all in Honour
Lod. This wretch hath part confest his Villany:
Did you and he consent in Cassio's death
Oth. I
Cas. Deere Generall, I neuer gaue you cause
Oth. I do beleeue it, and I aske your pardon:
Will you, I pray, demand that demy-Diuell,
Why he hath thus ensnar'd my Soule and Body