Iago
What’s the matter, lady?
Emilia
Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhored her.
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,
As true hearts cannot bear.
Desdemona
Am I that name, Iago?
Iago
What name, fair lady?
Desdemona
Such as she says my lord did say I was.
Emilia
He call’d her whore: a beggar in his drink
Could not have laid such terms upon his callat.
Iago
Why did he so?
Desdemona
I do not know; I am sure I am none such.
Iago
Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the day!
Emilia
Her father and her country and her friends,
To be call’d whore? would it not make one weep?