Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Oth. I look down towards his feet; but that's a Fable,
Oth. If that thou bee'st a Diuell, I cannot kill thee.
Lod. Lod.
Lod. Wrench his Sword from him.
Iago. Iago.
Iago. I bleed Sir, but not kill'd.
Othel. Othel.
Othel. I am not sorry neither, Il'd haue thee liue:
Othel. For in my sense, 'tis happinesse to die.
Lod. Oh thou Othello, that was once so good,
Lod. Falne in the practise of a cursed Slaue,
Lod. What shall be saide to thee.
Oth. Oth.
Oth. Why any thing:
Oth. An honourable Murderer, if you will:
Oth. For nought I did in hate, but all in Honour.
Lod. This wretch hath part confest his Villany:
Lod. Did you and he consent in Cassio's death.