He might haue chid me so; for in good faith
I am a Child to chiding

Iago. What is the matter Lady?
Aemil. Alas (Iago) my Lord hath so bewhor'd her,
Throwne such dispight, and heauy termes vpon her
That true hearts cannot beare it

Des. Am I that name, Iago?
Iago. What name, (faire Lady?)
Des. Such as she said my Lord did say I was.
Aemil. He call'd her whore: a Begger in his drinke:
Could not haue laid such termes vpon his Callet

Iago. Why did he so?
Des. I do not know: I am sure I am none such

Iago. Do not weepe, do not weepe: alas the day.
Aemil. Hath she forsooke so many Noble Matches?
Her Father? And her Country? And her Friends?
To be call'd Whore? Would it not make one weepe?
Des. It is my wretched Fortune

Iago. Beshrew him for't:
How comes this Tricke vpon him?
Des. Nay, Heauen doth know

Aemi. I will be hang'd, if some eternall Villaine,
Some busie and insinuating Rogue,
Some cogging, cozening Slaue, to get some Office,