Emilia
It’s the wind.
Desdemona
I call’d my love false love; but what said he then?
Sing willow, willow, willow:
If I court moe women, you’ll couch with moe men!
So, get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch;
Doth that bode weeping?
Singing.
Emilia
’Tis neither here nor there.
Desdemona
I have heard it said so. O, these men, these men!
Dost thou in conscience think—tell me, Emilia—
That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such gross kind?
Emilia
There be some such, no question.
Desdemona
Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?