{"collection":"sks","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/sks/ff/mww.htm","path":"sks/ff/mww.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/sks/ff/mww.htm","text":"Actus primus, Scena prima.\nEnter Iustice Shallow, Slender, Sir Hugh Euans, Master Page,\nFalstoffe,\nBardolph, Nym, Pistoll, Anne Page, Mistresse Ford, Mistresse\nPage, Simple.\nShallow. Sir Hugh, perswade me not: I will make a StarChamber\nmatter of it, if hee were twenty Sir\nIohn Falstoffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow\nEsquire\nSlen. In the County of Glocester, Iustice of Peace and Coram\nShal. I (Cosen Slender) and Custalorum\nSlen. I, and Ratolorum too; and a Gentleman borne\n(Master Parson) who writes himselfe Armigero, in any\nBill, Warrant, Quittance, or Obligation, Armigero\nShal. I that I doe, and haue done any time these three\nhundred yeeres\nSlen. All his successors (gone before him) hath don't:\nand all his Ancestors (that come after him) may: they\nmay giue the dozen white Luces in their Coate\nShal. It is an olde Coate\nEuans. The dozen white Lowses doe become an old\nCoat well: it agrees well passant: It is a familiar beast to\nman, and signifies Loue\nShal. The Luse is the fresh-fish, the salt-fish, is an old\nCoate\nSlen. I may quarter (Coz)\nShal. You may, by marrying\nEuans. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it\nShal. Not a whit\nEuan. Yes per-lady: if he ha's a quarter of your coat,\nthere is but three Skirts for your selfe, in my simple coniectures;\nbut that is all one: if Sir Iohn Falstaffe haue\ncommitted disparagements vnto you, I am of the Church\nand will be glad to do my beneuolence, to make attonements\nand compremises betweene you\nShal. The Councell shall heare it, it is a Riot\nEuan. It is not meet the Councell heare a Riot: there\nis no feare of Got in a Riot: The Councell (looke you)\nshall desire to heare the feare of Got, and not to heare a\nRiot: take your vizaments in that\nShal. Ha; o'my life, if I were yong againe, the sword\nshould end it\nEuans. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end\nit: and there is also another deuice in my praine, which\nperaduenture prings goot discretions with it. There is\nAnne Page, which is daughter to Master Thomas Page,\nwhich is pretty virginity\nSlen. Mistris Anne Page? she has browne haire, and\nspeakes small like a woman\nEuans. It is that ferry person for all the orld, as iust as\nyou will desire, and seuen hundred pounds of Moneyes,\nand Gold, and Siluer, is her Grand-sire vpon his deathsbed,\n(Got deliuer to a ioyfull resurrections) giue, when\nshe is able to ouertake seuenteene yeeres old. It were a\ngoot motion, if we leaue our pribbles and prabbles, and\ndesire a marriage betweene Master Abraham, and Mistris\nAnne Page\nSlen. Did her Grand-sire leaue her seauen hundred\npound?\nEuan. I, and her father is make her a petter penny\nSlen. I know the young Gentlewoman, she has good\ngifts\nEuan. Seuen hundred pounds, and possibilities, is\ngoot gifts\nShal. Wel, let vs see honest Mr Page: is Falstaffe there?\nEuan. Shall I tell you a lye? I doe despise a lyer, as I\ndoe despise one that is false, or as I despise one that is not\ntrue: the Knight Sir Iohn is there, and I beseech you be\nruled by your well-willers: I will peat the doore for Mr.\nPage. What hoa? Got-plesse your house heere\nMr.Page. Who's there?\nEuan. Here is go't's plessing and your friend, and Iustice\nShallow, and heere yong Master Slender: that peraduentures\nshall tell you another tale, if matters grow to\nyour likings\nMr.Page. I am glad to see your Worships well: I\nthanke you for my Venison Master Shallow\nShal. Master Page, I am glad to see you: much good\ndoe it your good heart: I wish'd your Venison better, it\nwas ill killd: how doth good Mistresse Page? and I thank\nyou alwaies with my heart, la: with my heart\nM.Page. Sir, I thanke you\nShal. Sir, I thanke you: by yea, and no I doe\nM.Pa. I am glad to see you, good Master Slender\nSlen. How do's your fallow Greyhound, Sir, I heard\nsay he was out-run on Cotsall\nM.Pa. It could not be iudg'd, Sir\nSlen. You'll not confesse: you'll not confesse\nShal. That he will not, 'tis your fault, 'tis your fault:\n'tis a good dogge\nM.Pa. A Cur, Sir\nShal. Sir: hee's a good dog, and a faire dog, can there\nbe more said? he is good, and faire. Is Sir Iohn Falstaffe\nheere?\nM.Pa. Sir, hee is within: and I would I could doe a\ngood office betweene you\nEuan. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speake\nShal. He hath wrong'd me (Master Page.)\nM.Pa. Sir, he doth in some sort confesse it\nShal. If it be confessed, it is not redressed; is not that\nso (M[aster]. Page?) he hath wrong'd me, indeed he hath, at a\nword he hath: beleeue me, Robert Shallow Esquire, saith\nhe is wronged\nMa.Pa. Here comes Sir Iohn\nFal. Now, Master Shallow, you'll complaine of me to\nthe King?\nShal. Knight, you haue beaten my men, kill'd my\ndeere, and broke open my Lodge\nFal. But not kiss'd your Keepers daughter?\nShal. Tut, a pin: this shall be answer'd\nFal. I will answere it strait, I haue done all this:\nThat is now answer'd\nShal. The Councell shall know this\nFal. 'Twere better for you if it were known in councell:\nyou'll be laugh'd at\nEu. Pauca verba; (Sir Iohn) good worts\nFal. Good worts? good Cabidge; Slender, I broke\nyour head: what matter haue you against me?\nSlen. Marry sir, I haue matter in my head against you,\nand against your cony-catching Rascalls, Bardolf, Nym,\nand Pistoll\nBar. You Banbery Cheese\nSlen. I, it is no matter\nPist. How now, Mephostophilus?\nSlen. I, it is no matter\nNym. Slice, I say; pauca, pauca: Slice, that's my humor\nSlen. Where's Simple my man? can you tell, Cosen?\nEua. Peace, I pray you: now let vs vnderstand: there\nis three Vmpires in this matter, as I vnderstand; that is,\nMaster Page (fidelicet Master Page,) & there is my selfe,\n(fidelicet my selfe) and the three party is (lastly, and finally)\nmine Host of the Garter\nMa.Pa. We three to hear it, & end it between them\nEuan. Ferry goo't, I will make a priefe of it in my\nnote-booke, and we wil afterwards orke vpon the cause,\nwith as great discreetly as we can\nFal. Pistoll\nPist. He heares with eares\nEuan. The Teuill and his Tam: what phrase is this?\nhe heares with eare? why, it is affectations\nFal. Pistoll, did you picke M[aster]. Slenders purse?\nSlen. I, by these gloues did hee, or I would I might\nneuer come in mine owne great chamber againe else, of\nseauen groates in mill-sixpences, and two Edward Shouelboords,\nthat cost me two shilling and two pence a\npeece of Yead Miller: by these gloues\nFal. Is this true, Pistoll?\nEuan. No, it is false, if it is a picke-purse\nPist. Ha, thou mountaine Forreyner: Sir Iohn, and\nMaster mine, I combat challenge of this Latine Bilboe:\nword of deniall in thy labras here; word of denial; froth,\nand scum thou liest\nSlen. By these gloues, then 'twas he\nNym. Be auis'd sir, and passe good humours: I will\nsay marry trap with you, if you runne the nut-hooks humor\non me, that is the very note of it\nSlen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it: for\nthough I cannot remember what I did when you made\nme drunke, yet I am not altogether an asse\nFal. What say you Scarlet, and Iohn?\nBar. Why sir, (for my part) I say the Gentleman had\ndrunke himselfe out of his fiue sentences\nEu. It is his fiue sences: fie, what the ignorance is\nBar. And being fap, sir, was (as they say) casheerd: and\nso conclusions past the Careires\nSlen. I, you spake in Latten then to: but 'tis no matter;\nIle nere be drunk whilst I liue againe, but in honest,\nciuill, godly company for this tricke: if I be drunke, Ile\nbe drunke with those that haue the feare of God, and not\nwith drunken knaues\nEuan. So got-udge me, that is a vertuous minde\nFal. You heare all these matters deni'd, Gentlemen;\nyou heare it\nMr.Page. Nay daughter, carry the wine in, wee'll\ndrinke within\nSlen. Oh heauen: This is Mistresse Anne Page\nMr.Page. How now Mistris Ford?\nFal. Mistris Ford, by my troth you are very wel met:\nby your leaue good Mistris\nMr.Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome: come,\nwe haue a hot Venison pasty to dinner; Come gentlemen,\nI hope we shall drinke downe all vnkindnesse\nSlen. I had rather then forty shillings I had my booke\nof Songs and Sonnets heere: How now Simple, where\nhaue you beene? I must wait on my selfe, must I? you\nhaue not the booke of Riddles about you, haue you?\nSim. Booke of Riddles? why did you not lend it to\nAlice Short-cake vpon Alhallowmas last, a fortnight afore\nMichaelmas\nShal. Come Coz, come Coz, we stay for you: a word\nwith you Coz: marry this, Coz: there is as 'twere a tender,\na kinde of tender, made a farre-off by Sir Hugh here:\ndoe you vnderstand me?\nSlen. I Sir, you shall finde me reasonable; if it be so,\nI shall doe that that is reason\nShal. Nay, but vnderstand me\nSlen. So I doe Sir\nEuan. Giue eare to his motions; (Mr. Slender) I will\ndescription the matter to you, if you be capacity of it\nSlen. Nay, I will doe as my Cozen Shallow saies: I\npray you pardon me, he's a Iustice of Peace in his Countrie,\nsimple though I stand here\nEuan. But that is not the question: the question is\nconcerning your marriage\nShal. I, there's the point Sir\nEu. Marry is it: the very point of it, to Mi[stris]. An Page\nSlen. Why if it be so; I will marry her vpon any reasonable\ndemands\nEu. But can you affection the 'oman, let vs command\nto know that of your mouth, or of your lips: for diuers\nPhilosophers hold, that the lips is parcell of the mouth:\ntherfore precisely, ca[n] you carry your good wil to y maid?\nSh. Cosen Abraham Slender, can you loue her?\nSlen. I hope sir, I will do as it shall become one that\nwould doe reason\nEu. Nay, got's Lords, and his Ladies, you must speake\npossitable, if you can carry-her your desires towards her\nShal. That you must:\nWill you, (vpon good dowry) marry her?\nSlen. I will doe a greater thing then that, vpon your\nrequest (Cosen) in any reason\nShal. Nay conceiue me, conceiue mee, (sweet Coz):\nWhat I doe is to pleasure you (Coz:) can you loue the\nmaid?\nSlen. I will marry her (Sir) at your request; but if\nthere bee no great loue in the beginning, yet Heauen\nmay decrease it vpon better acquaintance, when wee\nare married, and haue more occasion to know one another:\nI hope vpon familiarity will grow more content:\nbut if you say mary-her, I will mary-her, that I am freely\ndissolued, and dissolutely\nEu. It is a fery discretion-answere; saue the fall is in\nthe 'ord, dissolutely: the ort is (according to our meaning)\nresolutely: his meaning is good\nSh. I: I thinke my Cosen meant well\nSl. I, or else I would I might be hang'd (la.)\nSh. Here comes faire Mistris Anne; would I were\nyong for your sake, Mistris Anne\nAn. The dinner is on the Table, my Father desires\nyour worships company\nSh. I will wait on him, (faire Mistris Anne.)\nEu. Od's plessed-wil: I wil not be abse[n]ce at the grace\nAn. Wil't please your worship to come in, Sir?\nSl. No, I thank you forsooth, hartely; I am very well\nAn. The dinner attends you, Sir\nSl. I am not a-hungry, I thanke you, forsooth: goe,\nSirha, for all you are my man, goe wait vpon my Cosen\nShallow: a Iustice of peace sometime may be beholding\nto his friend, for a Man; I keepe but three Men, and a\nBoy yet, till my Mother be dead: but what though, yet\nI liue like a poore Gentleman borne\nAn. I may not goe in without your worship: they\nwill not sit till you come\nSl. I' faith, ile eate nothing: I thanke you as much as\nthough I did\nAn. I pray you Sir walke in\nSl. I had rather walke here (I thanke you) I bruiz'd\nmy shin th' other day, with playing at Sword and Dagger\nwith a Master of Fence (three veneys for a dish of\nstew'd Prunes) and by my troth, I cannot abide the smell\nof hot meate since. Why doe your dogs barke so? be\nthere Beares ith' Towne?\nAn. I thinke there are, Sir, I heard them talk'd of\nSl. I loue the sport well, but I shall as soone quarrell\nat it, as any man in England: you are afraid if you see the\nBeare loose, are you not?\nAn. I indeede Sir\nSl. That's meate and drinke to me now: I haue seene\nSaskerson loose, twenty times, and haue taken him by the\nChaine: but (I warrant you) the women haue so cride\nand shrekt at it, that it past: But women indeede, cannot\nabide 'em, they are very ill-fauour'd rough things\nMa.Pa. Come, gentle M[aster]. Slender, come; we stay for you\nSl. Ile eate nothing, I thanke you Sir\nMa.Pa. By cocke and pie, you shall not choose, Sir:\ncome, come\nSl. Nay, pray you lead the way\nMa.Pa. Come on, Sir\nSl. Mistris Anne: your selfe shall goe first\nAn. Not I Sir, pray you keepe on\nSl. Truely I will not goe first: truely-la: I will not\ndoe you that wrong\nAn. I pray you Sir\nSl. Ile rather be vnmannerly, then troublesome: you\ndoe your selfe wrong indeede-la.\nExeunt.\nScena Secunda.\nEnter Euans, and Simple.\nEu. Go your waies, and aske of Doctor Caius house,\nwhich is the way; and there dwels one Mistris Quickly;\nwhich is in the manner of his Nurse; or his dry-Nurse; or\nhis Cooke; or his Laundry; his Washer, and his Ringer\nSi. Well Sir\nEu. Nay, it is petter yet: giue her this letter; for it is\na 'oman that altogeathers acquainta[n]ce with Mistris Anne\nPage; and the Letter is to desire, and require her to solicite\nyour Masters desires, to Mistris Anne Page: I pray\nyou be gon: I will make an end of my dinner; ther's Pippins\nand Cheese to come.\nExeunt.\nScena Tertia.\nEnter Falstaffe, Host, Bardolfe, Nym, Pistoll, Page.\nFal. Mine Host of the Garter?\nHo. What saies my Bully Rooke? speake schollerly,\nand wisely\nFal. Truely mine Host; I must turne away some of my\nfollowers\nHo. Discard, (bully Hercules) casheere; let them wag;\ntrot, trot\nFal. I sit at ten pounds a weeke\nHo. Thou'rt an Emperor (Cesar, Keiser and Pheazar)\nI will entertaine Bardolfe: he shall draw; he shall tap; said\nI well (bully Hector?)\nFa. Doe so (good mine Host.)\nHo. I haue spoke; let him follow; let me see thee froth,\nand liue: I am at a word: follow\nFal. Bardolfe, follow him: a Tapster is a good trade:\nan old Cloake, makes a new Ierkin: a wither'd Seruingman,\na fresh Tapster: goe, adew\nBa. It is a life that I haue desir'd: I will thriue\nPist. O base hungarian wight: wilt y the spigot wield\nNi. He was gotten in drink: is not the humor co[n]ceited?\nFal. I am glad I am so acquit of this Tinderbox: his\nThefts were too open: his filching was like an vnskilfull\nSinger, he kept not time\nNi. The good humor is to steale at a minutes rest\nPist. Conuay: the wise it call: Steale? foh: a fico for\nthe phrase\nFal. Well sirs, I am almost out at heeles\nPist. Why then let Kibes ensue\nFal. There is no remedy: I must conicatch, I must shift\nPist. Yong Rauens must haue foode\nFal. Which of you know Ford of this Towne?\nPist. I ken the wight: he is of substance good\nFal. My honest Lads, I will tell you what I am about\nPist. Two yards, and more\nFal. No quips now Pistoll: (Indeede I am in the waste\ntwo yards about: but I am now about no waste: I am about\nthrift) briefely: I doe meane to make loue to Fords\nwife: I spie entertainment in her: shee discourses: shee\ncarues: she giues the leere of inuitation: I can construe\nthe action of her familier stile, & the hardest voice of her\nbehauior (to be english'd rightly) is, I am Sir Iohn Falstafs\nPist. He hath studied her will; and translated her will:\nout of honesty, into English\nNi. The Anchor is deepe: will that humor passe?\nFal. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule of her\nhusbands Purse: he hath a legend of Angels\nPist. As many diuels entertaine: and to her Boy say I\nNi. The humor rises: it is good: humor me the angels\nFal. I haue writ me here a letter to her: & here another\nto Pages wife, who euen now gaue mee good eyes\ntoo; examind my parts with most iudicious illiads: sometimes\nthe beame of her view, guilded my foote: sometimes\nmy portly belly\nPist. Then did the Sun on dung-hill shine\nNi. I thanke thee for that humour\nFal. O she did so course o're my exteriors with such\na greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye, did seeme\nto scorch me vp like a burning-glasse: here's another\nletter to her: She beares the Purse too: She is a Region\nin Guiana: all gold, and bountie: I will be Cheaters to\nthem both, and they shall be Exchequers to mee: they\nshall be my East and West Indies, and I will trade to\nthem both: Goe, beare thou this Letter to Mistris Page;\nand thou this to Mistris Ford: we will thriue (Lads) we\nwill thriue\nPist. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,\nAnd by my side weare Steele? then Lucifer take all\nNi. I will run no base humor: here take the humor-Letter;\nI will keepe the hauior of reputation\nFal. Hold Sirha, beare you these Letters tightly,\nSaile like my Pinnasse to these golden shores.\nRogues, hence, auaunt, vanish like haile-stones; goe,\nTrudge; plod away ith' hoofe: seeke shelter, packe:\nFalstaffe will learne the honor of the age,\nFrench-thrift, you Rogues, my selfe, and skirted Page\nPist. Let Vultures gripe thy guts: for gourd, and\nFullam holds: & high and low beguiles the rich & poore,\nTester ile haue in pouch when thou shalt lacke,\nBase Phrygian Turke\nNi. I haue opperations,\nWhich be humors of reuenge\nPist. Wilt thou reuenge?\nNi. By Welkin, and her Star\nPist. With wit, or Steele?\nNi. With both the humors, I:\nI will discusse the humour of this Loue to Ford\nPist. And I to Page shall eke vnfold\nHow Falstaffe (varlet vile)\nHis Doue will proue; his gold will hold,\nAnd his soft couch defile\nNi. My humour shall not coole: I will incense Ford\nto deale with poyson: I will possesse him with yallownesse,\nfor the reuolt of mine is dangerous: that is my\ntrue humour\nPist. Thou art the Mars of Malecontents: I second\nthee: troope on.\nExeunt.\nScoena Quarta.\nEnter Mistris Quickly, Simple, Iohn Rugby, Doctor, Caius, Fenton.\nQu. What, Iohn Rugby, I pray thee goe to the Casement,\nand see if you can see my Master, Master Docter\nCaius comming: if he doe (I' faith) and finde any body\nin the house; here will be an old abusing of Gods patience,\nand the Kings English\nRu. Ile goe watch\nQu. Goe, and we'll haue a posset for't soone at night,\n(in faith) at the latter end of a Sea-cole-fire: An honest,\nwilling, kinde fellow, as euer seruant shall come in house\nwithall: and I warrant you, no tel-tale, nor no breedebate:\nhis worst fault is, that he is giuen to prayer; hee is\nsomething peeuish that way: but no body but has his\nfault: but let that passe. Peter Simple, you say your\nname is?\nSi. I: for fault of a better\nQu. And Master Slender's your Master?\nSi. I forsooth\nQu. Do's he not weare a great round Beard, like a\nGlouers pairing-knife?\nSi. No forsooth: he hath but a little wee-face; with\na little yellow Beard: a Caine colourd Beard\nQu. A softly-sprighted man, is he not?\nSi. I forsooth: but he is as tall a man of his hands, as\nany is betweene this and his head: he hath fought with\na Warrener\nQu. How say you: oh, I should remember him: do's\nhe not hold vp his head (as it were?) and strut in his gate?\nSi. Yes indeede do's he\nQu. Well, heauen send Anne Page, no worse fortune:\nTell Master Parson Euans, I will doe what I can for your\nMaster: Anne is a good girle, and I wish -\nRu. Out alas: here comes my Master\nQu. We shall all be shent: Run in here, good young\nman: goe into this Closset: he will not stay long: what\nIohn Rugby? Iohn: what Iohn I say? goe Iohn, goe enquire\nfor my Master, I doubt he be not well, that hee\ncomes not home: (and downe, downe, adowne'a. &c\nCa. Vat is you sing? I doe not like des-toyes: pray\nyou goe and vetch me in my Closset, vnboyteere verd;\na Box, a greene-a-Box: do intend vat I speake? a greene-a-Box\nQu. I forsooth ile fetch it you:\nI am glad hee went not in himselfe: if he had found the\nyong man he would haue bin horne-mad\nCa. Fe, fe, fe, fe, mai foy, il fait for ehando, Ie man voi a le\nCourt la grand affaires\nQu. Is it this Sir?\nCa. Ouy mette le au mon pocket, depeech quickly:\nVere is dat knaue Rugby?\nQu. What Iohn Rugby, Iohn?\nRu. Here Sir\nCa. You are Iohn Rugby, and you are Iacke Rugby:\nCome, take-a-your Rapier, and come after my heele to\nthe Court\nRu. 'Tis ready Sir, here in the Porch\nCa. By my trot: I tarry too long: od's-me: que ay ie\noublie: dere is some Simples in my Closset, dat I vill not\nfor the varld I shall leaue behinde\nQu. Ay-me, he'll finde the yong man there, & be mad\nCa. O Diable, Diable: vat is in my Closset?\nVillanie, Laroone: Rugby, my Rapier\nQu. Good Master be content\nCa. Wherefore shall I be content-a?\nQu. The yong man is an honest man\nCa. What shall de honest man do in my Closset: dere\nis no honest man dat shall come in my Closset\nQu. I beseech you be not so flegmaticke: heare the\ntruth of it. He came of an errand to mee, from Parson\nHugh\nCa. Vell\nSi. I forsooth: to desire her to -\nQu. Peace, I pray you\nCa. Peace-a-your tongue: speake-a-your Tale\nSi. To desire this honest Gentlewoman (your Maid)\nto speake a good word to Mistris Anne Page, for my Master\nin the way of Marriage\nQu. This is all indeede-la: but ile nere put my finger\nin the fire, and neede not\nCa. Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, ballow mee some\npaper: tarry you a littell-a-while\nQui. I am glad he is so quiet: if he had bin throughly\nmoued, you should haue heard him so loud, and so melancholly:\nbut notwithstanding man, Ile doe yoe your\nMaster what good I can: and the very yea, & the no is, y\nFrench Doctor my Master, (I may call him my Master,\nlooke you, for I keepe his house; and I wash, ring, brew,\nbake, scowre, dresse meat and drinke, make the beds, and\ndoe all my selfe.)\nSimp. 'Tis a great charge to come vnder one bodies\nhand\nQui. Are you auis'd o'that? you shall finde it a great\ncharge: and to be vp early, and down late: but notwithstanding,\n(to tell you in your eare, I wold haue no words\nof it) my Master himselfe is in loue with Mistris Anne\nPage: but notwithstanding that I know Ans mind, that's\nneither heere nor there\nCaius. You, Iack'Nape: giue-'a this Letter to Sir\nHugh, by gar it is a shallenge: I will cut his troat in de\nParke, and I will teach a scuruy Iackanape Priest to\nmeddle, or make:- you may be gon: it is not good\nyou tarry here: by gar I will cut all his two stones: by\ngar, he shall not haue a stone to throw at his dogge\nQui. Alas: he speakes but for his friend\nCaius. It is no matter 'a ver dat: do not you tell-a-me\ndat I shall haue Anne Page for my selfe? by gar, I vill\nkill de Iack-Priest: and I haue appointed mine Host of\nde Iarteer to measure our weapon: by gar, I wil my selfe\nhaue Anne Page\nQui. Sir, the maid loues you, and all shall bee well:\nWe must giue folkes leaue to prate: what the goodier\nCaius. Rugby, come to the Court with me: by gar, if\nI haue not Anne Page, I shall turne your head out of my\ndore: follow my heeles, Rugby\nQui. You shall haue An-fooles head of your owne:\nNo, I know Ans mind for that: neuer a woman in Windsor\nknowes more of Ans minde then I doe, nor can doe\nmore then I doe with her, I thanke heauen\nFenton. Who's with in there, hoa?\nQui. Who's there, I troa? Come neere the house I\npray you\nFen. How now (good woman) how dost thou?\nQui. The better that it pleases your good Worship\nto aske?\nFen. What newes? how do's pretty Mistris Anne?\nQui. In truth Sir, and shee is pretty, and honest, and\ngentle, and one that is your friend, I can tell you that by\nthe way, I praise heauen for it\nFen. Shall I doe any good thinkst thou? shall I not\nloose my suit?\nQui. Troth Sir, all is in his hands aboue: but notwithstanding\n(Master Fenton) Ile be sworne on a booke\nshee loues you: haue not your Worship a wart aboue\nyour eye?\nFen. Yes marry haue I, what of that?\nQui. Wel, thereby hangs a tale: good faith, it is such\nanother Nan; (but (I detest) an honest maid as euer\nbroke bread: wee had an howres talke of that wart; I\nshall neuer laugh but in that maids company: but (indeed)\nshee is giuen too much to Allicholy and musing:\nbut for you - well - goe too -\nFen. Well: I shall see her to day: hold, there's money\nfor thee: Let mee haue thy voice in my behalfe: if\nthou seest her before me, commend me. -\nQui. Will I? I faith that wee will: And I will tell\nyour Worship more of the Wart, the next time we haue\nconfidence, and of other wooers\nFen. Well, fare-well, I am in great haste now\nQui. Fare-well to your Worship: truely an honest\nGentleman: but Anne loues him not: for I know Ans\nminde as well as another do's: out vpon't: what haue I\nforgot.\nEnter.\nActus Secundus. Scoena Prima.\nEnter Mistris Page, Mistris Ford, Master Page, Master Ford,\nPistoll, Nim,\nQuickly, Host, Shallow.\nMist.Page. What, haue scap'd Loue-letters in the\nholly-day-time of my beauty, and am I now a subiect\nfor them? let me see?\nAske me no reason why I loue you, for though Loue vse Reason\nfor his precisian, hee admits him not for his Counsailour:\nyou are not yong, no more am I: goe to then, there's simpathie:\nyou are merry, so am I: ha, ha, then there's more simpathie:\nyou loue sacke, and so do I: would you desire better simpathie?\nLet it suffice thee (Mistris Page) at the least if the Loue of\nSouldier can suffice, that I loue thee: I will not say pitty mee,\n'tis not a Souldier-like phrase; but I say, loue me:\nBy me, thine owne true Knight, by day or night:\nOr any kinde of light, with all his might,\nFor thee to fight. Iohn Falstaffe.\nWhat a Herod of Iurie is this? O wicked, wicked world:\nOne that is well-nye worne to peeces with age\nTo show himselfe a yong Gallant? What an vnwaied\nBehauiour hath this Flemish drunkard pickt (with\nThe Deuills name) out of my conuersation, that he dares\nIn this manner assay me? why, hee hath not beene thrice\nIn my Company: what should I say to him? I was then\nFrugall of my mirth: (heauen forgiue mee:) why Ile\nExhibit a Bill in the Parliament for the putting downe\nof men: how shall I be reueng'd on him? for reueng'd I\nwill be? as sure as his guts are made of puddings\nMis.Ford. Mistris Page, trust me, I was going to your\nhouse\nMis.Page. And trust me, I was comming to you: you\nlooke very ill\nMis.Ford. Nay Ile nere beleeue that; I haue to shew\nto the contrary\nMis.Page. 'Faith but you doe in my minde\nMis.Ford. Well: I doe then: yet I say, I could shew\nyou to the contrary: O Mistris Page, giue mee some\ncounsaile\nMis.Page. What's the matter, woman?\nMi.Ford. O woman: if it were not for one trifling respect,\nI could come to such honour\nMi.Page. Hang the trifle (woman) take the honour:\nwhat is it? dispence with trifles: what is it?\nMi.Ford. If I would but goe to hell, for an eternall\nmoment, or so: I could be knighted\nMi.Page. What thou liest? Sir Alice Ford? these\nKnights will hacke, and so thou shouldst not alter the article\nof thy Gentry\nMi.Ford. Wee burne day-light: heere, read, read:\nperceiue how I might bee knighted, I shall thinke the\nworse of fat men, as long as I haue an eye to make difference\nof mens liking: and yet hee would not sweare:\npraise womens modesty: and gaue such orderly and welbehaued\nreproofe to al vncomelinesse, that I would haue\nsworne his disposition would haue gone to the truth of\nhis words: but they doe no more adhere and keep place\ntogether, then the hundred Psalms to the tune of Greensleeues:\nWhat tempest (I troa) threw this Whale, (with\nso many Tuns of oyle in his belly) a'shoare at Windsor?\nHow shall I bee reuenged on him? I thinke the best way\nwere, to entertaine him with hope, till the wicked fire\nof lust haue melted him in his owne greace: Did you euer\nheare the like?\nMis.Page. Letter for letter; but that the name of\nPage and Ford differs: to thy great comfort in this mystery\nof ill opinions, heere's the twyn-brother of thy Letter:\nbut let thine inherit first, for I protest mine neuer\nshall: I warrant he hath a thousand of these Letters, writ\nwith blancke-space for different names (sure more): and\nthese are of the second edition: hee will print them out\nof doubt: for he cares not what hee puts into the presse,\nwhen he would put vs two: I had rather be a Giantesse,\nand lye vnder Mount Pelion: Well; I will find you twentie\nlasciuious Turtles ere one chaste man\nMis.Ford. Why this is the very same: the very hand:\nthe very words: what doth he thinke of vs?\nMis.Page. Nay I know not: it makes me almost readie\nto wrangle with mine owne honesty: Ile entertaine\nmy selfe like one that I am not acquainted withall: for\nsure vnlesse hee know some straine in mee, that I know\nnot my selfe, hee would neuer haue boorded me in this\nfurie\nMi.Ford. Boording, call you it? Ile bee sure to keepe\nhim aboue decke\nMi.Page. So will I: if hee come vnder my hatches,\nIle neuer to Sea againe: Let's bee reueng'd on him: let's\nappoint him a meeting: giue him a show of comfort in\nhis Suit, and lead him on with a fine baited delay, till hee\nhath pawn'd his horses to mine Host of the Garter\nMi.Ford. Nay, I wil consent to act any villany against\nhim, that may not sully the charinesse of our honesty: oh\nthat my husband saw this Letter: it would giue eternall\nfood to his iealousie\nMis.Page. Why look where he comes; and my good\nman too: hee's as farre from iealousie, as I am from giuing\nhim cause, and that (I hope) is an vnmeasurable distance\nMis.Ford. You are the happier woman\nMis.Page. Let's consult together against this greasie\nKnight: Come hither\nFord. Well: I hope, it be not so\nPist. Hope is a curtall-dog in some affaires:\nSir Iohn affects thy wife\nFord. Why sir, my wife is not young\nPist. He wooes both high and low, both rich & poor,\nboth yong and old, one with another (Ford) he loues the\nGally-mawfry (Ford) perpend\nFord. Loue my wife?\nPist. With liuer, burning hot: preuent:\nOr goe thou like Sir Acteon he, with\nRing-wood at thy heeles: O, odious is the name\nFord. What name Sir?\nPist. The horne I say: Farewell:\nTake heed, haue open eye, for theeues doe foot by night.\nTake heed, ere sommer comes, or Cuckoo-birds do sing.\nAway sir Corporall Nim:\nBeleeue it (Page) he speakes sence\nFord. I will be patient: I will find out this\nNim. And this is true: I like not the humor of lying:\nhee hath wronged mee in some humors: I should haue\nborne the humour'd Letter to her: but I haue a sword:\nand it shall bite vpon my necessitie: he loues your wife;\nThere's the short and the long: My name is Corporall\nNim: I speak, and I auouch; 'tis true: my name is Nim:\nand Falstaffe loues your wife: adieu, I loue not the humour\nof bread and cheese: adieu\nPage. The humour of it (quoth 'a?) heere's a fellow\nfrights English out of his wits\nFord. I will seeke out Falstaffe\nPage. I neuer heard such a drawling-affecting rogue\nFord. If I doe finde it: well\nPage. I will not beleeue such a Cataian, though the\nPriest o' th' Towne commended him for a true man\nFord. 'Twas a good sensible fellow: well\nPage. How now Meg?\nMist.Page. Whether goe you (George?) harke you\nMis.Ford. How now (sweet Frank) why art thou melancholy?\nFord. I melancholy? I am not melancholy:\nGet you home: goe\nMis.Ford. Faith, thou hast some crochets in thy head,\nNow: will you goe, Mistris Page?\nMis.Page. Haue with you: you'll come to dinner\nGeorge? Looke who comes yonder: shee shall bee our\nMessenger to this paltrie Knight\nMis.Ford. Trust me, I thought on her: shee'll fit it\nMis.Page. You are come to see my daughter Anne?\nQui. I forsooth: and I pray how do's good Mistresse\nAnne?\nMis.Page. Go in with vs and see: we haue an houres\ntalke with you\nPage. How now Master Ford?\nFor. You heard what this knaue told me, did you not?\nPage. Yes, and you heard what the other told me?\nFord. Doe you thinke there is truth in them?\nPag. Hang 'em slaues: I doe not thinke the Knight\nwould offer it: But these that accuse him in his intent\ntowards our wiues, are a yoake of his discarded men: very\nrogues, now they be out of seruice\nFord. Were they his men?\nPage. Marry were they\nFord. I like it neuer the beter for that,\nDo's he lye at the Garter?\nPage. I marry do's he: if hee should intend this voyage\ntoward my wife, I would turne her loose to him;\nand what hee gets more of her, then sharpe words, let it\nlye on my head\nFord. I doe not misdoubt my wife: but I would bee\nloath to turne them together: a man may be too confident:\nI would haue nothing lye on my head: I cannot\nbe thus satisfied\nPage. Looke where my ranting-Host of the Garter\ncomes: there is eyther liquor in his pate, or mony in his\npurse, when hee lookes so merrily: How now mine\nHost?\nHost. How now Bully-Rooke: thou'rt a Gentleman\nCaueleiro Iustice, I say\nShal. I follow, (mine Host) I follow: Good-euen,\nand twenty (good Master Page.) Master Page, wil you go\nwith vs? we haue sport in hand\nHost. Tell him Caueleiro-Iustice: tell him Bully-Rooke\nShall. Sir, there is a fray to be fought, betweene Sir\nHugh the Welch Priest, and Caius the French Doctor\nFord. Good mine Host o'th' Garter: a word with you\nHost. What saist thou, my Bully-Rooke?\nShal. Will you goe with vs to behold it? My merry\nHost hath had the measuring of their weapons; and (I\nthinke) hath appointed them contrary places: for (beleeue\nmee) I heare the Parson is no Iester: harke, I will\ntell you what our sport shall be\nHost. Hast thou no suit against my Knight? my guest-Caualeire?\nShal. None, I protest: but Ile giue you a pottle of\nburn'd sacke, to giue me recourse to him, and tell him\nmy name is Broome: onely for a iest\nHost. My hand, (Bully:) thou shalt haue egresse and\nregresse, (said I well?) and thy name shall be Broome. It\nis a merry Knight: will you goe An-heires?\nShal. Haue with you mine Host\nPage. I haue heard the French-man hath good skill\nin his Rapier\nShal. Tut sir: I could haue told you more: In these\ntimes you stand on distance: your Passes, Stoccado's, and\nI know not what: 'tis the heart (Master Page) 'tis heere,\n'tis heere: I haue seene the time, with my long-sword, I\nwould haue made you fowre tall fellowes skippe like\nRattes\nHost. Heere boyes, heere, heere: shall we wag?\nPage. Haue with you: I had rather heare them scold,\nthen fight\nFord. Though Page be a secure foole, and stands so\nfirmely on his wiues frailty; yet, I cannot put-off my opinion\nso easily: she was in his company at Pages house:\nand what they made there, I know not. Well, I wil looke\nfurther into't, and I haue a disguise, to sound Falstaffe; if\nI finde her honest, I loose not my labor: if she be otherwise,\n'tis labour well bestowed.\nExeunt.\nScoena Secunda.\nEnter Falstaffe, Pistoll, Robin, Quickly, Bardolffe, Ford.\nFal. I will not lend thee a penny\nPist. Why then the world's mine Oyster, which I,\nwith sword will open\nFal. Not a penny: I haue beene content (Sir,) you\nshould lay my countenance to pawne: I haue grated vpon\nmy good friends for three Repreeues for you, and\nyour Coach-fellow Nim; or else you had look'd through\nthe grate, like a Geminy of Baboones: I am damn'd in\nhell, for swearing to Gentlemen my friends, you were\ngood Souldiers, and tall-fellowes. And when Mistresse\nBriget lost the handle of her Fan, I took't vpon mine honour\nthou hadst it not\nPist. Didst not thou share? hadst thou not fifteene\npence?\nFal. Reason, you roague, reason: thinkst thou Ile endanger\nmy soule, gratis? at a word, hang no more about\nmee, I am no gibbet for you: goe, a short knife, and a\nthrong, to your Mannor of Pickt-hatch: goe, you'll not\nbeare a Letter for mee you roague? you stand vpon your\nhonor: why, (thou vnconfinable basenesse) it is as much\nas I can doe to keepe the termes of my honor precise:\nI, I, I my selfe sometimes, leauing the feare of heauen on\nthe left hand, and hiding mine honor in my necessity, am\nfaine to shufflle: to hedge, and to lurch, and yet, you\nRogue, will en-sconce your raggs; your Cat-a-Mountaine-lookes,\nyour red-lattice phrases, and your boldbeating-oathes,\nvnder the shelter of your honor? you\nwill not doe it? you?\nPist. I doe relent: what would thou more of man?\nRobin. Sir, here's a woman would speake with you\nFal. Let her approach\nQui. Giue your worship good morrow\nFal. Good-morrow, good-wife\nQui. Not so, and't please your worship\nFal. Good maid then\nQui. Ile be sworne,\nAs my mother was the first houre I was borne\nFal. I doe beleeue the swearer; what with me?\nQui. Shall I vouch-safe your worship a word, or\ntwo?\nFal. Two thousand (faire woman) and ile vouchsafe\nthee the hearing\nQui. There is one Mistresse Ford, (Sir) I pray come a\nlittle neerer this waies: I my selfe dwell with M[aster]. Doctor\nCaius:\nFal. Well, on; Mistresse Ford, you say\nQui. Your worship saies very true: I pray your worship\ncome a little neerer this waies\nFal. I warrant thee, no-bodie heares: mine owne\npeople, mine owne people\nQui. Are they so? heauen-blesse them, and make\nthem his Seruants\nFal. Well; Mistresse Ford, what of her?\nQui. Why, Sir; shee's a good-creature; Lord, Lord,\nyour Worship's a wanton: well: heauen forgiue you,\nand all of vs, I pray -\nFal. Mistresse Ford: come, Mistresse Ford\nQui. Marry this is the short, and the long of it: you\nhaue brought her into such a Canaries, as 'tis wonderfull:\nthe best Courtier of them all (when the Court lay\nat Windsor) could neuer haue brought her to such a Canarie:\nyet there has beene Knights, and Lords, and Gentlemen,\nwith their Coaches; I warrant you Coach after\nCoach, letter after letter, gift after gift, smelling so sweetly;\nall Muske, and so rushling, I warrant you, in silke\nand golde, and in such alligant termes, and in such wine\nand suger of the best, and the fairest, that would haue\nwonne any womans heart: and I warrant you, they could\nneuer get an eye-winke of her: I had my selfe twentie\nAngels giuen me this morning, but I defie all Angels (in\nany such sort, as they say) but in the way of honesty: and\nI warrant you, they could neuer get her so much as sippe\non a cup with the prowdest of them all, and yet there has\nbeene Earles: nay, (which is more) Pentioners, but I\nwarrant you all is one with her\nFal. But what saies shee to mee? be briefe my good\nsheeMercurie\nQui. Marry, she hath receiu'd your Letter: for the\nwhich she thankes you a thousand times; and she giues\nyou to notifie, that her husband will be absence from his\nhouse, betweene ten and eleuen\nFal. Ten, and eleuen\nQui. I, forsooth: and then you may come and see the\npicture (she sayes) that you wot of: Master Ford her husband\nwill be from home: alas, the sweet woman leades\nan ill life with him: hee's a very iealousie-man; she leads\na very frampold life with him, (good hart.)\nFal. Ten, and eleuen.\nWoman, commend me to her, I will not faile her\nQui. Why, you say well: But I haue another messenger\nto your worship: Mistresse Page hath her heartie\ncommendations to you to: and let mee tell you in your\neare, shee's as fartuous a ciuill modest wife, and one (I\ntell you) that will not misse you morning nor euening\nprayer, as any is in Windsor, who ere bee the other: and\nshee bade me tell your worship, that her husband is seldome\nfrom home, but she hopes there will come a time.\nI neuer knew a woman so doate vpon a man; surely I\nthinke you haue charmes, la: yes in truth\nFal. Not I, I assure thee; setting the attraction of my\ngood parts aside, I haue no other charmes\nQui. Blessing on your heart for't\nFal. But I pray thee tell me this: has Fords wife, and\nPages wife acquainted each other, how they loue me?\nQui. That were a iest indeed: they haue not so little\ngrace I hope, that were a tricke indeed: But Mistris Page\nwould desire you to send her your little Page of al loues:\nher husband has a maruellous infectio[n] to the little Page:\nand truely Master Page is an honest man: neuer a wife in\nWindsor leades a better life then she do's: doe what shee\nwill, say what she will, take all, pay all, goe to bed when\nshe list, rise when she list, all is as she will: and truly she\ndeserues it; for if there be a kinde woman in Windsor, she\nis one: you must send her your Page, no remedie\nFal. Why, I will\nQu. Nay, but doe so then, and looke you, hee may\ncome and goe betweene you both: and in any case haue\na nay-word, that you may know one anothers minde,\nand the Boy neuer neede to vnderstand any thing; for\n'tis not good that children should know any wickednes:\nolde folkes you know, haue discretion, as they say, and\nknow the world\nFal. Farethee-well, commend mee to them both:\nthere's my purse, I am yet thy debter: Boy, goe along\nwith this woman, this newes distracts me\nPist. This Puncke is one of Cupids Carriers,\nClap on more sailes, pursue: vp with your sights:\nGiue fire: she is my prize, or Ocean whelme them all\nFal. Saist thou so (old Iacke) go thy waies: Ile make\nmore of thy olde body then I haue done: will they yet\nlooke after thee? wilt thou after the expence of so much\nmoney, be now a gainer? good Body, I thanke thee: let\nthem say 'tis grossely done, so it bee fairely done, no\nmatter\nBar. Sir Iohn, there's one Master Broome below would\nfaine speake with you, and be acquainted with you; and\nhath sent your worship a mornings draught of Sacke\nFal. Broome is his name?\nBar. I Sir\nFal. Call him in: such Broomes are welcome to mee,\nthat ore'flowes such liquor: ah ha, Mistresse Ford and Mistresse\nPage, haue I encompass'd you? goe to, via\nFord. 'Blesse you sir\nFal. And you sir: would you speake with me?\nFord. I make bold, to presse, with so little preparation\nvpon you\nFal. You'r welcome, what's your will? giue vs leaue\nDrawer\nFord. Sir, I am a Gentleman that haue spent much,\nmy name is Broome\nFal. Good Master Broome, I desire more acquaintance\nof you\nFord. Good Sir Iohn, I sue for yours: not to charge\nyou, for I must let you vnderstand, I thinke my selfe in\nbetter plight for a Lender, then you are: the which hath\nsomething emboldned me to this vnseason'd intrusion:\nfor they say, if money goe before, all waies doe lye\nopen\nFal. Money is a good Souldier (Sir) and will on\nFord. Troth, and I haue a bag of money heere troubles\nme: if you will helpe to beare it (Sir Iohn) take all,\nor halfe, for easing me of the carriage\nFal. Sir, I know not how I may deserue to bee your\nPorter\nFord. I will tell you sir, if you will giue mee the hearing\nFal. Speake (good Master Broome) I shall be glad to\nbe your Seruant\nFord. Sir, I heare you are a Scholler: (I will be briefe\nwith you) and you haue been a man long knowne to me,\nthough I had neuer so good means as desire, to make my\nselfe acquainted with you. I shall discouer a thing to\nyou, wherein I must very much lay open mine owne imperfection:\nbut (good Sir Iohn) as you haue one eye vpon\nmy follies, as you heare them vnfolded, turne another\ninto the Register of your owne, that I may passe with a\nreproofe the easier, sith you your selfe know how easie it\nis to be such an offender\nFal. Very well Sir, proceed\nFord. There is a Gentlewoman in this Towne, her\nhusbands name is Ford\nFal. Well Sir\nFord. I haue long lou'd her, and I protest to you, bestowed\nmuch on her: followed her with a doating obseruance:\nIngross'd opportunities to meete her: fee'd euery\nslight occasion that could but nigardly giue mee\nsight of her: not only bought many presents to giue her,\nbut haue giuen largely to many, to know what shee\nwould haue giuen: briefly, I haue pursu'd her, as Loue\nhath pursued mee, which hath beene on the wing of all\noccasions: but whatsoeuer I haue merited, either in my\nminde, or in my meanes, meede I am sure I haue receiued\nnone, vnlesse Experience be a Iewell, that I haue purchased\nat an infinite rate, and that hath taught mee to say\nthis,\n``Loue like a shadow flies, when substance Loue pursues,\n``Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues\nFal. Haue you receiu'd no promise of satisfaction at\nher hands?\nFord. Neuer\nFal. Haue you importun'd her to such a purpose?\nFord. Neuer\nFal. Of what qualitie was your loue then?\nFord. Like a fair house, built on another mans ground,\nso that I haue lost my edifice, by mistaking the place,\nwhere I erected it\nFal. To what purpose haue you vnfolded this to me?\nFor. When I haue told you that, I haue told you all:\nSome say, that though she appeare honest to mee, yet in\nother places shee enlargeth her mirth so farre, that there\nis shrewd construction made of her. Now (Sir Iohn) here\nis the heart of my purpose: you are a gentleman of excellent\nbreeding, admirable discourse, of great admittance,\nauthenticke in your place and person, generally\nallow'd for your many war-like, court-like, and learned\npreparations\nFal. O Sir\nFord. Beleeue it, for you know it: there is money,\nspend it, spend it, spend more; spend all I haue, onely\ngiue me so much of your time in enchange of it, as to lay\nan amiable siege to the honesty of this Fords wife: vse\nyour Art of wooing; win her to consent to you: if any\nman may, you may as soone as any\nFal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your\naffection that I should win what you would enioy? Methinkes\nyou prescribe to your selfe very preposterously\nFord. O, vnderstand my drift: she dwells so securely\non the excellency of her honor, that the folly of my soule\ndares not present it selfe: shee is too bright to be look'd\nagainst. Now, could I come to her with any detection\nin my hand; my desires had instance and argument to\ncommend themselues, I could driue her then from the\nward of her purity, her reputation, her marriage-vow,\nand a thousand other her defences, which now are tootoo\nstrongly embattaild against me: what say you too't,\nSir Iohn?\nFal. Master Broome, I will first make bold with your\nmoney: next, giue mee your hand: and last, as I am a\ngentleman, you shall, if you will, enioy Fords wife\nFord. O good Sir\nFal. I say you shall\nFord. Want no money (Sir Iohn) you shall want none\nFal. Want no Mistresse Ford (Master Broome) you shall\nwant none: I shall be with her (I may tell you) by her\nowne appointment, euen as you came in to me, her assistant,\nor goe-betweene, parted from me: I say I shall be\nwith her betweene ten and eleuen: for at that time the\niealious-rascally-knaue her husband will be forth: come\nyou to me at night, you shall know how I speed\nFord. I am blest in your acquaintance: do you know\nFord Sir?\nFal. Hang him (poore Cuckoldly knaue) I know\nhim not: yet I wrong him to call him poore: They say\nthe iealous wittolly-knaue hath masses of money, for\nthe which his wife seemes to me well-fauourd: I will vse\nher as the key of the Cuckoldly-rogues Coffer, & ther's\nmy haruest-home\nFord. I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might auoid\nhim, if you saw him\nFal. Hang him, mechanicall-salt-butter rogue; I wil\nstare him out of his wits: I will awe-him with my cudgell:\nit shall hang like a Meteor ore the Cuckolds horns:\nMaster Broome, thou shalt know, I will predominate ouer\nthe pezant, and thou shalt lye with his wife. Come\nto me soone at night: Ford's a knaue, and I will aggrauate\nhis stile: thou (Master Broome) shalt know him for\nknaue, and Cuckold. Come to me soone at night\nFord. What a damn'd Epicurian-Rascall is this? my\nheart is ready to cracke with impatience: who saies this\nis improuident iealousie? my wife hath sent to him, the\nhowre is fixt, the match is made: would any man haue\nthought this? see the hell of hauing a false woman: my\nbed shall be abus'd, my Coffers ransack'd, my reputation\ngnawne at, and I shall not onely receiue this villanous\nwrong, but stand vnder the adoption of abhominable\ntermes, and by him that does mee this wrong: Termes,\nnames: Amaimon sounds well: Lucifer, well: Barbason,\nwell: yet they are Diuels additions, the names of fiends:\nBut Cuckold, Wittoll, Cuckold? the Diuell himselfe\nhath not such a name. Page is an Asse, a secure Asse; hee\nwill trust his wife, hee will not be iealous: I will rather\ntrust a Fleming with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welshman\nwith my Cheese, an Irish-man with my Aqua-vitae-bottle,\nor a Theefe to walke my ambling gelding, then\nmy wife with her selfe. Then she plots, then shee ruminates,\nthen shee deuises: and what they thinke in their\nhearts they may effect; they will breake their hearts but\nthey will effect. Heauen bee prais'd for my iealousie:\neleuen o' clocke the howre, I will preuent this, detect\nmy wife, bee reueng'd on Falstaffe, and laugh at Page. I\nwill about it, better three houres too soone, then a mynute\ntoo late: fie, fie, fie: Cuckold, Cuckold, Cuckold.\nEnter.\nScena Tertia.\nEnter Caius, Rugby, Page, Shallow, Slender, Host.\nCaius. Iacke Rugby\nRug. Sir\nCaius. Vat is the clocke, Iack\nRug. 'Tis past the howre (Sir) that Sir Hugh promis'd\nto meet\nCai. By gar, he has saue his soule, dat he is no-come:\nhee has pray his Pible well, dat he is no-come: by gar\n(Iack Rugby) he is dead already, if he be come\nRug. Hee is wise Sir: hee knew your worship would\nkill him if he came\nCai. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill kill\nhim: take your Rapier, (Iacke) I vill tell you how I vill\nkill him\nRug. Alas sir, I cannot fence\nCai. Villaine, take your Rapier\nRug. Forbeare: heer's company\nHost. 'Blesse thee, bully-Doctor\nShal. 'Saue you Mr. Doctor Caius\nPage. Now good Mr. Doctor\nSlen. 'Giue you good-morrow, sir\nCaius. Vat be all you one, two, tree, fowre, come for?\nHost. To see thee fight, to see thee foigne, to see thee\ntrauerse, to see thee heere, to see thee there, to see thee\npasse thy puncto, thy stock, thy reuerse, thy distance, thy\nmontant: Is he dead, my Ethiopian? Is he dead, my Francisco?\nha Bully? what saies my Esculapius? my Galien? my\nheart of Elder? ha? is he dead bully-Stale? is he dead?\nCai. By gar, he is de Coward-Iack-Priest of de vorld:\nhe is not show his face\nHost. Thou art a Castalion-king-Vrinall: Hector of\nGreece (my Boy)\nCai. I pray you beare witnesse, that me haue stay,\nsixe or seuen, two tree howres for him, and hee is nocome\nShal. He is the wiser man (M[aster]. Doctor) he is a curer of\nsoules, and you a curer of bodies: if you should fight, you\ngoe against the haire of your professions: is it not true,\nMaster Page?\nPage. Master Shallow; you haue your selfe beene a\ngreat fighter, though now a man of peace\nShal. Body-kins M[aster]. Page, though I now be old, and\nof the peace; if I see a sword out, my finger itches to\nmake one: though wee are Iustices, and Doctors, and\nChurch-men (M[aster]. Page) wee haue some salt of our youth\nin vs, we are the sons of women (M[aster]. Page.)\nPage. 'Tis true, Mr. Shallow\nShal. It wil be found so, (M[aster]. Page:) M[aster]. Doctor\nCaius,\nI am come to fetch you home: I am sworn of the peace:\nyou haue show'd your selfe a wise Physician, and Sir\nHugh hath showne himselfe a wise and patient Churchman:\nyou must goe with me, M[aster]. Doctor\nHost. Pardon, Guest-Iustice; a Mounseur Mocke-water\nCai. Mock-vater? vat is dat?\nHost. Mock-water, in our English tongue, is Valour\n(Bully.)\nCai. By gar, then I haue as much Mock-vater as de\nEnglishman: scuruy-Iack-dog-Priest: by gar, mee vill\ncut his eares\nHost. He will Clapper-claw thee tightly (Bully.)\nCai. Clapper-de-claw? vat is dat?\nHost. That is, he will make thee amends\nCai. By-gar, me doe looke hee shall clapper-de-claw\nme, for by-gar, me vill haue it\nHost. And I will prouoke him to't, or let him wag\nCai. Me tanck you for dat\nHost. And moreouer, (Bully) but first, Mr. Ghuest,\nand M[aster]. Page, & eeke Caualeiro Slender, goe you through\nthe Towne to Frogmore\nPage. Sir Hugh is there, is he?\nHost. He is there, see what humor he is in: and I will\nbring the Doctor about by the Fields: will it doe well?\nShal. We will doe it\nAll. Adieu, good M[aster]. Doctor\nCai. By-gar, me vill kill de Priest, for he speake for a\nIack-an-Ape to Anne Page\nHost. Let him die: sheath thy impatience: throw cold\nwater on thy Choller: goe about the fields with mee\nthrough Frogmore, I will bring thee where Mistris Anne\nPage is, at a Farm-house a Feasting: and thou shalt wooe\nher: Cride-game, said I well?\nCai. By-gar, mee dancke you vor dat: by gar I loue\nyou: and I shall procure 'a you de good Guest: de Earle,\nde Knight, de Lords, de Gentlemen, my patients\nHost. For the which, I will be thy aduersary toward\nAnne Page: said I well?\nCai. By-gar, 'tis good: vell said\nHost. Let vs wag then\nCai. Come at my heeles, Iack Rugby.\nExeunt.\nActus Tertius. Scoena Prima.\nEnter Euans, Simple, Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Caius, Rugby.\nEuans. I pray you now, good Master Slenders seruingman,\nand friend Simple by your name; which way haue\nyou look'd for Master Caius, that calls himselfe Doctor\nof Phisicke\nSim. Marry Sir, the pittie-ward, the Parke-ward:\neuery way: olde Windsor way, and euery way but the\nTowne-way\nEuan. I most fehemently desire you, you will also\nlooke that way\nSim. I will sir\nEuan. 'Plesse my soule: how full of Chollors I am, and\ntrempling of minde: I shall be glad if he haue deceiued\nme: how melancholies I am? I will knog his Vrinalls about\nhis knaues costard, when I haue good oportunities\nfor the orke: 'Plesse my soule: To shallow Riuers to whose\nfalls: melodious Birds sings Madrigalls: There will we make\nour Peds of Roses: and a thousand fragrant posies. To shallow:\n'Mercie on mee, I haue a great dispositions to cry.\nMelodious birds sing Madrigalls: - When as I sat in Pabilon:\nand a thousand vagram Posies. To shallow, &c\nSim. Yonder he is comming, this way, Sir Hugh\nEuan. Hee's welcome: To shallow Riuers, to whose fals:\nHeauen prosper the right: what weapons is he?\nSim. No weapons, Sir: there comes my Master, Mr.\nShallow, and another Gentleman; from Frogmore, ouer\nthe stile, this way\nEuan. Pray you giue mee my gowne, or else keepe it\nin your armes\nShal. How now Master Parson? good morrow good\nSir Hugh: keepe a Gamester from the dice, and a good\nStudient from his booke, and it is wonderfull\nSlen. Ah sweet Anne Page\nPage. 'Saue you, good Sir Hugh\nEuan. 'Plesse you from his mercy-sake, all of you\nShal. What? the Sword, and the Word?\nDoe you study them both, Mr. Parson?\nPage. And youthfull still, in your doublet and hose,\nthis raw-rumaticke day?\nEuan. There is reasons, and causes for it\nPage. We are come to you, to doe a good office, Mr.\nParson\nEuan. Fery-well: what is it?\nPage. Yonder is a most reuerend Gentleman; who\n(be-like) hauing receiued wrong by some person, is at\nmost odds with his owne grauity and patience, that euer\nyou saw\nShal. I haue liued foure-score yeeres, and vpward: I\nneuer heard a man of his place, grauity, and learning, so\nwide of his owne respect\nEuan. What is he?\nPage. I thinke you know him: Mr. Doctor Caius the\nrenowned French Physician\nEuan. Got's-will, and his passion of my heart: I had\nas lief you would tell me of a messe of porredge\nPage. Why?\nEuan. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and\nGalen , and hee is a knaue besides: a cowardly knaue, as\nyou would desires to be acquainted withall\nPage. I warrant you, hee's the man should fight with\nhim\nSlen. O sweet Anne Page\nShal. It appeares so by his weapons: keepe them asunder:\nhere comes Doctor Caius\nPage. Nay good Mr. Parson, keepe in your weapon\nShal. So doe you, good Mr. Doctor\nHost. Disarme them, and let them question: let them\nkeepe their limbs whole, and hack our English\nCai. I pray you let-a-mee speake a word with your\neare; vherefore vill you not meet-a me?\nEuan. Pray you vse your patience in good time\nCai. By-gar, you are de Coward: de Iack dog: Iohn\nApe\nEuan. Pray you let vs not be laughing-stocks to other\nmens humors: I desire you in friendship, and I will one\nway or other make you amends: I will knog your Vrinal\nabout your knaues Cogs-combe\nCai. Diable: Iack Rugby: mine Host de Iarteer: haue I\nnot stay for him, to kill him? haue I not at de place I did\nappoint?\nEuan. As I am a Christians-soule, now looke you:\nthis is the place appointed, Ile bee iudgement by mine\nHost of the Garter\nHost. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaule, French & Welch,\nSoule-Curer, and Body-Curer\nCai. I, dat is very good, excellant\nHost. Peace, I say: heare mine Host of the Garter,\nAm I politicke? Am I subtle? Am I a Machiuell?\nShall I loose my Doctor? No, hee giues me the Potions\nand the Motions. Shall I loose my Parson? my Priest?\nmy Sir Hugh? No, he giues me the Prouerbes, and the\nNo-verbes. Giue me thy hand (Celestiall) so: Boyes of\nArt, I haue deceiu'd you both: I haue directed you to\nwrong places: your hearts are mighty, your skinnes are\nwhole, and let burn'd Sacke be the issue: Come, lay their\nswords to pawne: Follow me, Lad of peace, follow, follow,\nfollow\nShal. Trust me, a mad Host: follow Gentlemen, follow\nSlen. O sweet Anne Page\nCai. Ha' do I perceiue dat? Haue you make-a-de-sot\nof vs, ha, ha?\nEua. This is well, he has made vs his vlowting-stog:\nI desire you that we may be friends: and let vs knog our\npraines together to be reuenge on this same scall\nscuruy-cogging-companion\nthe Host of the Garter\nCai. By gar, with all my heart: he promise to bring\nme where is Anne Page: by gar he deceiue me too\nEuan. Well, I will smite his noddles: pray you follow.\nScena Secunda.\nMist.Page, Robin, Ford, Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Euans,\nCaius.\nMist.Page. Nay keepe your way (little Gallant) you\nwere wont to be a follower, but now you are a Leader:\nwhether had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your masters\nheeles?\nRob. I had rather (forsooth) go before you like a man,\nthen follow him like a dwarfe\nM.Pa. O you are a flattering boy, now I see you'l be a\n(Courtier\nFord. Well met mistris Page, whether go you\nM.Pa. Truly Sir, to see your wife, is she at home?\nFord. I, and as idle as she may hang together for want\nof company: I thinke if your husbands were dead, you\ntwo would marry\nM.Pa. Be sure of that, two other husbands\nFord. Where had you this pretty weather-cocke?\nM.Pa. I cannot tell what (the dickens) his name is my\nhusband had him of, what do you cal your Knights name sirrah?\nRob. Sir Iohn Falstaffe\nFord. Sir Iohn Falstaffe\nM.Pa. He, he, I can neuer hit on's name; there is such a\nleague betweene my goodman, and he: is your Wife at home\nindeed?\nFord. Indeed she is\nM.Pa. By your leaue sir, I am sicke till I see her\nFord. Has Page any braines? Hath he any eies? Hath he\nany thinking? Sure they sleepe, he hath no vse of them:\nwhy this boy will carrie a letter twentie mile as easie, as\na Canon will shoot point-blanke twelue score: hee peeces\nout his wiues inclination: he giues her folly motion\nand aduantage: and now she's going to my wife, & Falstaffes\nboy with her: A man may heare this showre sing\nin the winde; and Falstaffes boy with her: good plots,\nthey are laide, and our reuolted wiues share damnation\ntogether. Well, I will take him, then torture my wife,\nplucke the borrowed vaile of modestie from the so-seeming\nMist[ris]. Page, divulge Page himselfe for a secure and\nwilfull Acteon, and to these violent proceedings all my\nneighbors shall cry aime. The clocke giues me my Qu,\nand my assurance bids me search, there I shall finde Falstaffe:\nI shall be rather praisd for this, then mock'd, for\nit is as possitiue, as the earth is firme, that Falstaffe is\nthere: I will go\nShal. Page, &c. Well met Mr Ford\nFord. Trust me, a good knotte; I haue good cheere at\nhome, and I pray you all go with me\nShal. I must excuse my selfe Mr Ford\nSlen. And so must I Sir,\nWe haue appointed to dine with Mistris Anne,\nAnd I would not breake with her for more mony\nThen Ile speake of\nShal. We haue linger'd about a match betweene An\nPage, and my cozen Slender, and this day wee shall haue\nour answer\nSlen. I hope I haue your good will Father Page\nPag. You haue Mr Slender, I stand wholly for you,\nBut my wife (Mr Doctor) is for you altogether\nCai. I be-gar, and de Maid is loue-a-me: my nursh-a-Quickly\ntell me so mush\nHost. What say you to yong Mr Fenton? He capers,\nhe dances, he has eies of youth: he writes verses, hee\nspeakes holliday, he smels April and May, he wil carry't,\nhe will carry't, 'tis in his buttons, he will carry't\nPage. Not by my consent I promise you. The Gentleman\nis of no hauing, hee kept companie with the wilde\nPrince, and Pointz: he is of too high a Region, he knows\ntoo much: no, hee shall not knit a knot in his fortunes,\nwith the finger of my substance: if he take her, let him\ntake her simply: the wealth I haue waits on my consent,\nand my consent goes not that way\nFord. I beseech you heartily, some of you goe home\nwith me to dinner: besides your cheere you shall haue\nsport, I will shew you a monster: Mr Doctor, you shal\ngo, so shall you Mr Page, and you Sir Hugh\nShal. Well, fare you well:\nWe shall haue the freer woing at Mr Pages\nCai. Go home Iohn Rugby, I come anon\nHost. Farewell my hearts, I will to my honest Knight\nFalstaffe, and drinke Canarie with him\nFord. I thinke I shall drinke in Pipe-wine first with\nhim, Ile make him dance. Will you go Gentles?\nAll. Haue with you, to see this Monster.\nScena Tertia.\nEnter M.Ford, M.Page, Seruants, Robin, Falstaffe, Ford, Page,\nCaius,\nEuans.\nMist.Ford. What Iohn, what Robert\nM.Page. Quickly, quickly: Is the Buck-basket -\nMis.Ford. I warrant. What Robin I say\nMis.Page. Come, come, come\nMist.Ford. Heere, set it downe\nM.Pag. Giue your men the charge, we must be briefe\nM.Ford. Marrie, as I told you before (Iohn & Robert)\nbe ready here hard-by in the Brew-house, & when I sodainly\ncall you, come forth, and (without any pause, or\nstaggering) take this basket on your shoulders: y done,\ntrudge with it in all hast, and carry it among the Whitsters\nin Dotchet Mead, and there empty it in the muddie\nditch, close by the Thames side\nM.Page. You will do it?\nM.Ford. I ha told them ouer and ouer, they lacke no direction.\nBe gone, and come when you are call'd\nM.Page. Here comes little Robin\nMist.Ford. How now my Eyas-Musket, what newes with you?\nRob. My M[aster]. Sir Iohn is come in at your backe doore\n(Mist[ris]. Ford, and requests your company\nM.Page. You litle Iack-a-lent, haue you bin true to vs\nRob. I, Ile be sworne: my Master knowes not of your\nbeing heere: and hath threatned to put me into euerlasting\nliberty, if I tell you of it: for he sweares he'll turne\nme away\nMist.Pag. Thou'rt a good boy: this secrecy of thine\nshall be a Tailor to thee, and shal make thee a new doublet\nand hose. Ile go hide me\nMi.Ford. Do so: go tell thy Master, I am alone: Mistris\nPage, remember you your Qu\nMist.Pag. I warrant thee, if I do not act it, hisse me\nMist.Ford. Go-too then: we'l vse this vnwholsome\nhumidity, this grosse-watry Pumpion; we'll teach him\nto know Turtles from Iayes\nFal. Haue I caught thee, my heauenly Iewell? Why\nnow let me die, for I haue liu'd long enough: This is the\nperiod of my ambition: O this blessed houre\nMist.Ford. O sweet Sir Iohn\nFal. Mistris Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate (Mist[ris].\nFord) now shall I sin in my wish; I would thy Husband\nwere dead, Ile speake it before the best Lord, I would\nmake thee my Lady\nMist.Ford. I your Lady Sir Iohn? Alas, I should bee a\npittifull Lady\nFal. Let the Court of France shew me such another:\nI see how thine eye would emulate the Diamond: Thou\nhast the right arched-beauty of the brow, that becomes\nthe Ship-tyre, the Tyre-valiant, or any Tire of Venetian\nadmittance\nMist.Ford. A plaine Kerchiefe, Sir Iohn:\nMy browes become nothing else, nor that well neither\nFal. Thou art a tyrant to say so: thou wouldst make\nan absolute Courtier, and the firme fixture of thy foote,\nwould giue an excellent motion to thy gate, in a semicircled\nFarthingale. I see what thou wert if Fortune thy\nfoe, were not Nature thy friend: Come, thou canst not\nhide it\nMist.Ford. Beleeue me, ther's no such thing in me\nFal. What made me loue thee? Let that perswade\nthee. Ther's something extraordinary in thee: Come, I\ncannot cog, and say thou art this and that, like a-manie\nof these lisping-hauthorne buds, that come like women\nin mens apparrell, and smell like Bucklers-berry in simple\ntime: I cannot, but I loue thee, none but thee; and\nthou deseru'st it\nM.Ford. Do not betray me sir, I fear you loue M[istris]. Page\nFal. Thou mightst as well say, I loue to walke by the\nCounter-gate, which is as hatefull to me, as the reeke of\na Lime-kill\nMis.Ford. Well, heauen knowes how I loue you,\nAnd you shall one day finde it\nFal. Keepe in that minde, Ile deserue it\nMist.Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you doe;\nOr else I could not be in that minde\nRob. Mistris Ford, Mistris Ford: heere's Mistris Page at\nthe doore, sweating, and blowing, and looking wildely,\nand would needs speake with you presently\nFal. She shall not see me, I will ensconce mee behinde\nthe Arras\nM.Ford. Pray you do so, she's a very tatling woman.\nWhats the matter? How now?\nMist.Page. O mistris Ford what haue you done?\nYou'r sham'd, y'are ouerthrowne, y'are vndone for euer\nM.Ford. What's the matter, good mistris Page?\nM.Page. O weladay, mist[ris]. Ford, hauing an honest man\nto your husband, to giue him such cause of suspition\nM.Ford. What cause of suspition?\nM.Page. What cause of suspition? Out vpon you:\nHow am I mistooke in you?\nM.Ford. Why (alas) what's the matter?\nM.Page. Your husband's comming hether (Woman)\nwith all the Officers in Windsor, to search for a Gentleman,\nthat he sayes is heere now in the house; by your\nconsent to take an ill aduantage of his absence: you are\nvndone\nM.Ford. 'Tis not so, I hope\nM.Page. Pray heauen it be not so, that you haue such\na man heere: but 'tis most certaine your husband's comming,\nwith halfe Windsor at his heeles, to serch for such\na one, I come before to tell you: If you know your selfe\ncleere, why I am glad of it: but if you haue a friend here,\nconuey, conuey him out. Be not amaz'd, call all your\nsenses to you, defend your reputation, or bid farwell to\nyour good life for euer\nM.Ford. What shall I do? There is a Gentleman my\ndeere friend: and I feare not mine owne shame so much,\nas his perill. I had rather then a thousand pound he were\nout of the house\nM.Page. For shame, neuer stand (you had rather, and\nyou had rather:) your husband's heere at hand, bethinke\nyou of some conueyance: in the house you cannot hide\nhim. Oh, how haue you deceiu'd me? Looke, heere is a\nbasket, if he be of any reasonable stature, he may creepe\nin heere, and throw fowle linnen vpon him, as if it were\ngoing to bucking: Or it is whiting time, send him by\nyour two men to Datchet-Meade\nM.Ford. He's too big to go in there: what shall I do?\nFal. Let me see't, let me see't, O let me see't:\nIle in, Ile in: Follow your friends counsell, Ile in\nM.Page. What Sir Iohn Falstaffe? Are these your Letters,\nKnight?\nFal. I loue thee, helpe mee away: let me creepe in\nheere: ile neuer -\nM.Page. Helpe to couer your master (Boy:) Call\nyour men (Mist[ris]. Ford.) You dissembling Knight\nM.Ford. What Iohn, Robert, Iohn; Go, take vp these\ncloathes heere, quickly: Wher's the Cowle-staffe? Look\nhow you drumble? Carry them to the Landresse in Datchet\nmead: quickly, come\nFord. 'Pray you come nere: if I suspect without cause,\nWhy then make sport at me, then let me be your iest,\nI deserue it: How now? Whether beare you this?\nSer. To the Landresse forsooth?\nM.Ford. Why, what haue you to doe whether they\nbeare it? You were best meddle with buck-washing\nFord. Buck? I would I could wash my selfe of y Buck:\nBucke, bucke, bucke, I bucke: I warrant you Bucke,\nAnd of the season too; it shall appeare.\nGentlemen, I haue dream'd to night, Ile tell you my\ndreame: heere, heere, heere bee my keyes, ascend my\nChambers, search, seeke, finde out: Ile warrant wee'le\nvnkennell the Fox. Let me stop this way first: so, now\nvncape\nPage. Good master Ford, be contented:\nYou wrong your selfe too much\nFord. True (master Page) vp Gentlemen,\nYou shall see sport anon:\nFollow me Gentlemen\nEuans. This is fery fantasticall humors and iealousies\nCaius. By gar, 'tis no-the fashion of France:\nIt is not iealous in France\nPage. Nay follow him (Gentlemen) see the yssue of\nhis search\nMist.Page. Is there not a double excellency in this?\nMist.Ford. I know not which pleases me better,\nThat my husband is deceiued, or Sir Iohn\nMist.Page. What a taking was hee in, when your\nhusband askt who was in the basket?\nMist.Ford. I am halfe affraid he will haue neede of\nwashing: so throwing him into the water, will doe him\na benefit\nMist.Page. Hang him dishonest rascall: I would all\nof the same straine, were in the same distresse\nMist.Ford. I thinke my husband hath some speciall\nsuspition of Falstaffs being heere: for I neuer saw him so\ngrosse in his iealousie till now\nMist.Page. I will lay a plot to try that, and wee will\nyet haue more trickes with Falstaffe: his dissolute disease\nwill scarse obey this medicine\nMis.Ford. Shall we send that foolishion Carion, Mist[ris].\nQuickly to him, and excuse his throwing into the water,\nand giue him another hope, to betray him to another\npunishment?\nMist.Page. We will do it: let him be sent for to morrow\neight a clocke to haue amends\nFord. I cannot finde him: may be the knaue bragg'd\nof that he could not compasse\nMis.Page. Heard you that?\nMis.Ford. You vse me well, M[aster]. Ford? Do you?\nFord. I, I do so\nM.Ford. Heauen make you better then your thoghts\nFord. Amen\nMi.Page. You do your selfe mighty wrong (M[aster]. Ford)\nFord. I, I: I must beare it\nEu. If there be any pody in the house, & in the chambers,\nand in the coffers, and in the presses: heauen forgiue\nmy sins at the day of iudgement\nCaius. Be gar, nor I too: there is no-bodies\nPage. Fy, fy, M[aster]. Ford, are you not asham'd? What spirit,\nwhat diuell suggests this imagination? I wold not ha\nyour distemper in this kind, for y welth of Windsor castle\nFord. 'Tis my fault (M[aster]. Page) I suffer for it\nEuans. You suffer for a pad conscience: your wife is\nas honest a o'mans, as I will desires among fiue thousand,\nand fiue hundred too\nCai. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman\nFord. Well, I promisd you a dinner: come, come, walk\nin the Parke, I pray you pardon me: I wil hereafter make\nknowne to you why I haue done this. Come wife, come\nMi[stris]. Page, I pray you pardon me. Pray hartly pardon me\nPage. Let's go in Gentlemen, but (trust me) we'l mock\nhim: I doe inuite you to morrow morning to my house\nto breakfast: after we'll a Birding together, I haue a fine\nHawke for the bush. Shall it be so:\nFord. Any thing\nEu. If there is one, I shall make two in the Companie\nCa. If there be one, or two, I shall make-a-theturd\nFord. Pray you go, M[aster]. Page\nEua. I pray you now remembrance to morrow on the\nlowsie knaue, mine Host\nCai. Dat is good by gar, withall my heart\nEua. A lowsie knaue, to haue his gibes, and his mockeries.\nExeunt.\nScoena Quarta.\nEnter Fenton, Anne, Page, Shallow, Slender, Quickly, Page,\nMist.Page.\nFen. I see I cannot get thy Fathers loue,\nTherefore no more turne me to him (sweet Nan.)\nAnne. Alas, how then?\nFen. Why thou must be thy selfe.\nHe doth obiect, I am too great of birth,\nAnd that my state being gall'd with my expence,\nI seeke to heale it onely by his wealth.\nBesides these, other barres he layes before me,\nMy Riots past, my wilde Societies,\nAnd tels me 'tis a thing impossible\nI should loue thee, but as a property\nAn. May be he tels you true.\nNo, heauen so speed me in my time to come,\nAlbeit I will confesse, thy Fathers wealth\nWas the first motiue that I woo'd thee (Anne:)\nYet wooing thee, I found thee of more valew\nThen stampes in Gold, or summes in sealed bagges:\nAnd 'tis the very riches of thy selfe,\nThat now I ayme at\nAn. Gentle M[aster]. Fenton,\nYet seeke my Fathers loue, still seeke it sir,\nIf opportunity and humblest suite\nCannot attaine it, why then harke you hither\nShal. Breake their talke Mistris Quickly.\nMy Kinsman shall speake for himselfe\nSlen. Ile make a shaft or a bolt on't, slid, tis but venturing\nShal. Be not dismaid\nSlen. No, she shall not dismay me:\nI care not for that, but that I am affeard\nQui. Hark ye, M[aster]. Slender would speak a word with you\nAn. I come to him. This is my Fathers choice:\nO what a world of vilde ill-fauour'd faults\nLookes handsome in three hundred pounds a yeere?\nQui. And how do's good Master Fenton?\nPray you a word with you\nShal. Shee's comming; to her Coz:\nO boy, thou hadst a father\nSlen. I had a father (M[istris]. An) my vncle can tel you good\niests of him: pray you Vncle, tel Mist[ris]. Anne the iest how\nmy Father stole two Geese out of a Pen, good Vnckle\nShal. Mistris Anne, my Cozen loues you\nSlen. I that I do, as well as I loue any woman in Glocestershire\nShal. He will maintaine you like a Gentlewoman\nSlen. I that I will, come cut and long-taile, vnder the\ndegree of a Squire\nShal. He will make you a hundred and fiftie pounds\nioynture\nAnne. Good Maister Shallow let him woo for himselfe\nShal. Marrie I thanke you for it: I thanke you for\nthat good comfort: she cals you (Coz) Ile leaue you\nAnne. Now Master Slender\nSlen. Now good Mistris Anne\nAnne. What is your will?\nSlen. My will? Odd's-hartlings, that's a prettie\niest indeede: I ne're made my Will yet (I thanke Heauen:)\nI am not such a sickely creature, I giue Heauen\npraise\nAnne. I meane (M[aster]. Slender) what wold you with me?\nSlen. Truely, for mine owne part, I would little or\nnothing with you: your father and my vncle hath made\nmotions: if it be my lucke, so; if not, happy man bee his\ndole, they can tell you how things go, better then I can:\nyou may aske your father, heere he comes\nPage. Now Mr Slender; Loue him daughter Anne.\nWhy how now? What does Mr Fenten here?\nYou wrong me Sir, thus still to haunt my house.\nI told you Sir, my daughter is disposd of\nFen. Nay Mr Page, be not impatient\nMist.Page. Good M[aster]. Fenton, come not to my child\nPage. She is no match for you\nFen. Sir, will you heare me?\nPage. No, good M[aster]. Fenton.\nCome M[aster]. Shallow: Come sonne Slender, in;\nKnowing my minde, you wrong me (M[aster]. Fenton.)\nQui. Speake to Mistris Page\nFen. Good Mist[ris]. Page, for that I loue your daughter\nIn such a righteous fashion as I do,\nPerforce, against all checkes, rebukes, and manners,\nI must aduance the colours of my loue,\nAnd not retire. Let me haue your good will\nAn. Good mother, do not marry me to yond foole\nMist.Page. I meane it not, I seeke you a better husband\nQui. That's my master, M[aster]. Doctor\nAn. Alas I had rather be set quick i'th earth,\nAnd bowl'd to death with Turnips\nMist.Page. Come, trouble not your selfe good M[aster].\nFenton, I will not be your friend, nor enemy:\nMy daughter will I question how she loues you,\nAnd as I finde her, so am I affected:\nTill then, farewell Sir, she must needs go in,\nHer father will be angry\nFen. Farewell gentle Mistris: farewell Nan\nQui. This is my doing now: Nay, saide I, will you\ncast away your childe on a Foole, and a Physitian:\nLooke on M[aster]. Fenton, this is my doing\nFen. I thanke thee: and I pray thee once to night,\nGiue my sweet Nan this Ring: there's for thy paines\nQui. Now heauen send thee good fortune, a kinde\nheart he hath: a woman would run through fire & water\nfor such a kinde heart. But yet, I would my Maister\nhad Mistris Anne, or I would M[aster]. Slender had her: or (in\nsooth) I would M[aster]. Fenton had her; I will do what I can\nfor them all three, for so I haue promisd, and Ile bee as\ngood as my word, but speciously for M[aster]. Fenton. Well, I\nmust of another errand to Sir Iohn Falstaffe from my two\nMistresses: what a beast am I to slacke it.\nExeunt.\nScena Quinta.\nEnter Falstaffe, Bardolfe, Quickly, Ford.\nFal. Bardolfe I say\nBar. Heere Sir\nFal. Go, fetch me a quart of Sacke, put a tost in't.\nHaue I liu'd to be carried in a Basket like a barrow of\nbutchers Offall? and to be throwne in the Thames? Wel,\nif I be seru'd such another tricke, Ile haue my braines\n'tane out and butter'd, and giue them to a dogge for a\nNew-yeares gift. The rogues slighted me into the riuer\nwith as little remorse, as they would haue drown'de a\nblinde bitches Puppies, fifteene i'th litter: and you may\nknow by my size, that I haue a kinde of alacrity in sinking:\nif the bottome were as deepe as hell, I shold down.\nI had beene drown'd, but that the shore was sheluy and\nshallow: a death that I abhorre: for the water swelles a\nman; and what a thing should I haue beene, when I\nhad beene swel'd? I should haue beene a Mountaine of\nMummie\nBar. Here's M[istris]. Quickly Sir to speake with you\nFal. Come, let me poure in some Sack to the Thames\nwater: for my bellies as cold as if I had swallow'd snowbals,\nfor pilles to coole the reines. Call her in\nBar. Come in woman\nQui. By your leaue: I cry you mercy?\nGiue your worship good morrow\nFal. Take away these Challices:\nGo, brew me a pottle of Sacke finely\nBard. With Egges, Sir?\nFal. Simple of it selfe: Ile no Pullet-Spersme in my\nbrewage. How now?\nQui. Marry Sir, I come to your worship from M[istris]. Ford\nFal. Mist[ris]. Ford? I haue had Ford enough: I was thrown\ninto the Ford; I haue my belly full of Ford\nQui. Alas the day, (good-heart) that was not her\nfault: she do's so take on with her men; they mistooke\ntheir erection\nFal. So did I mine, to build vpon a foolish Womans promise\nQui. Well, she laments Sir for it, that it would yern\nyour heart to see it: her husband goes this morning a\nbirding; she desires you once more to come to her, betweene\neight and nine: I must carry her word quickely,\nshe'll make you amends I warrant you\nFal. Well, I will visit her, tell her so: and bidde her\nthinke what a man is: Let her consider his frailety, and\nthen iudge of my merit\nQui. I will tell her\nFal. Do so. Betweene nine and ten saist thou?\nQui. Eight and nine Sir\nFal. Well, be gone: I will not misse her\nQui. Peace be with you Sir\nFal. I meruaile I heare not of Mr Broome: he sent me\nword to stay within: I like his money well.\nOh, heere he comes\nFord. Blesse you Sir\nFal. Now M[aster]. Broome, you come to know\nWhat hath past betweene me, and Fords wife\nFord. That indeed (Sir Iohn) is my businesse\nFal. M[aster]. Broome I will not lye to you,\nI was at her house the houre she appointed me\nFord. And sped you Sir?\nFal. Very ill-fauouredly M[aster]. Broome\nFord. How so sir, did she change her determination?\nFal. No (M[aster]. Broome) but the peaking Curnuto her husband\n(M[aster]. Broome) dwelling in a continual larum of ielousie,\ncoms me in the instant of our encounter, after we had\nembrast, kist, protested, & (as it were) spoke the prologue\nof our Comedy: and at his heeles, a rabble of his companions,\nthither prouoked and instigated by his distemper,\nand (forsooth) to serch his house for his wiues Loue\nFord. What? While you were there?\nFal. While I was there\nFor. And did he search for you, & could not find you?\nFal. You shall heare. As good lucke would haue it,\ncomes in one Mist[ris]. Page, giues intelligence of Fords approch:\nand in her inuention, and Fords wiues distraction,\nthey conuey'd me into a bucke-basket\nFord. A Buck-basket?\nFal. Yes: a Buck-basket: ram'd mee in with foule\nShirts and Smockes, Socks, foule Stockings, greasie\nNapkins, that (Master Broome) there was the rankest\ncompound of villanous smell, that euer offended nostrill\nFord. And how long lay you there?\nFal. Nay, you shall heare (Master Broome) what I\nhaue sufferd, to bring this woman to euill, for your\ngood: Being thus cram'd in the Basket, a couple of\nFords knaues, his Hindes, were cald forth by their Mistris,\nto carry mee in the name of foule Cloathes to\nDatchet-lane: they tooke me on their shoulders: met\nthe iealous knaue their Master in the doore; who\nask'd them once or twice what they had in their Basket?\nI quak'd for feare least the Lunatique Knaue\nwould haue search'd it: but Fate (ordaining he should\nbe a Cuckold) held his hand: well, on went hee, for\na search, and away went I for foule Cloathes: But\nmarke the sequell (Master Broome) I suffered the pangs\nof three seuerall deaths: First, an intollerable fright,\nto be detected with a iealious rotten Bell-weather:\nNext to be compass'd like a good Bilbo in the circumference\nof a Pecke, hilt to point, heele to head. And\nthen to be stopt in like a strong distillation with stinking\nCloathes, that fretted in their owne grease:\nthinke of that, a man of my Kidney; thinke of that,\nthat am as subiect to heate as butter; a man of continuall\ndissolution, and thaw: it was a miracle to scape\nsuffocation. And in the height of this Bath (when I\nwas more then halfe stew'd in grease (like a Dutch-dish)\nto be throwne into the Thames, and\ncoold, glowing-hot, in that serge like a Horse-shoo;\nthinke of that; hissing hot: thinke of that (Master\nBroome.)\nFord. In good sadnesse Sir, I am sorry, that for my sake\nyou haue sufferd all this.\nMy suite then is desperate: You'll vndertake her no\nmore?\nFal. Master Broome: I will be throwne into Etna,\nas I haue beene into Thames, ere I will leaue her thus;\nher Husband is this morning gone a Birding: I\nhaue receiued from her another ambassie of meeting:\n'twixt eight and nine is the houre (Master\nBroome.)\nFord. 'Tis past eight already Sir\nFal. Is it? I will then addresse mee to my appointment:\nCome to mee at your conuenient leisure, and\nyou shall know how I speede: and the conclusion\nshall be crowned with your enioying her: adiew: you\nshall haue her (Master Broome) Master Broome, you shall\ncuckold Ford\nFord. Hum: ha? Is this a vision? Is this a dreame?\ndoe I sleepe? Master Ford awake, awake Master Ford:\nther's a hole made in your best coate (Master Ford:) this\n'tis to be married; this 'tis to haue Lynnen, and Buckbaskets:\nWell, I will proclaime my selfe what I am:\nI will now take the Leacher: hee is at my house: hee\ncannot scape me: 'tis impossible hee should: hee cannot\ncreepe into a halfe-penny purse, nor into a PepperBoxe:\nBut least the Diuell that guides him, should\naide him, I will search impossible places: though\nwhat I am, I cannot auoide; yet to be what I would\nnot, shall not make me tame: If I haue hornes, to make\none mad, let the prouerbe goe with me, Ile be hornemad.\nExeunt.\nActus Quartus. Scoena Prima.\nEnter Mistris Page, Quickly, William, Euans.\nMist.Pag. Is he at M[aster]. Fords already think'st thou?\nQui. Sure he is by this; or will be presently; but\ntruely he is very couragious mad, about his throwing\ninto the water. Mistris Ford desires you to come sodainely\nMist.Pag. Ile be with her by and by: Ile but bring\nmy yong-man here to Schoole: looke where his Master\ncomes; 'tis a playing day I see: how now Sir Hugh, no\nSchoole to day?\nEua. No: Master Slender is let the Boyes leaue to play\nQui 'Blessing of his heart\nMist.Pag. Sir Hugh, my husband saies my sonne profits\nnothing in the world at his Booke: I pray you aske\nhim some questions in his Accidence\nEu. Come hither William; hold vp your head; come\nMist.Pag. Come-on Sirha; hold vp your head; answere\nyour Master, be not afraid\nEua. William, how many Numbers is in Nownes?\nWill. Two\nQui. Truely, I thought there had bin one Number\nmore, because they say od's-Nownes\nEua. Peace, your tatlings. What is (Faire) William?\nWill. Pulcher\nQu. Powlcats? there are fairer things then Powlcats,\nsure\nEua. You are a very simplicity o'man: I pray you\npeace. What is (Lapis) William?\nWill. A Stone\nEua. And what is a Stone (William?)\nWill. A Peeble\nEua. No; it is Lapis: I pray you remember in your\npraine\nWill. Lapis\nEua. That is a good William: what is he (William) that\ndo's lend Articles\nWill. Articles are borrowed of the Pronoune; and be\nthus declined. Singulariter nominatiuo hic, haec, hoc\nEua. Nominatiuo hig, hag, hog: pray you marke: genitiuo\nhuius: Well: what is your Accusatiue-case?\nWill. Accusatiuo hinc\nEua. I pray you haue your remembrance (childe) Accusatiuo\nhing, hang, hog\nQu. Hang-hog, is latten for Bacon, I warrant you\nEua. Leaue your prables (o'man) What is the Focatiue\ncase (William?)\nWill. O, Vocatiuo, O\nEua. Remember William, Focatiue, is caret\nQu. And that's a good roote\nEua. O'man, forbeare\nMist.Pag. Peace\nEua. What is your Genitiue case plurall (William?)\nWill. Genitiue case?\nEua. I\nWill. Genitiue horum, harum, horum\nQu. 'Vengeance of Ginyes case; fie on her; neuer\nname her (childe) if she be a whore\nEua. For shame o'man\nQu. You doe ill to teach the childe such words: hee\nteaches him to hic, and to hac; which they'll doe fast\nenough of themselues, and to call horum; fie vpon you\nEuans. O'man, art thou Lunatics? Hast thou no vnderstandings\nfor thy Cases, & the numbers of the Genders?\nThou art as foolish Christian creatures, as I would\ndesires\nMi.Page. Pre'thee hold thy peace\nEu. Shew me now (William) some declensions of your\nPronounes\nWill. Forsooth, I haue forgot\nEu. It is Qui, que, quod; if you forget your Quies,\nyour Ques, and your Quods, you must be preeches: Goe\nyour waies and play, go\nM.Pag. He is a better scholler then I thought he was\nEu. He is a good sprag-memory: Farewel Mis[tris]. Page\nMis.Page. Adieu good Sir Hugh:\nGet you home boy, Come we stay too long.\nExeunt.\nScena Secunda.\nEnter Falstoffe, Mist.Ford, Mist.Page, Seruants, Ford, Page, Caius,\nEuans,\nShallow.\nFal. Mi[stris]. Ford, Your sorrow hath eaten vp my sufferance;\nI see you are obsequious in your loue, and I professe\nrequitall to a haires bredth, not onely Mist[ris]. Ford,\nin the simple office of loue, but in all the accustrement,\ncomplement, and ceremony of it: But are you sure of\nyour husband now?\nMis.Ford. Hee's a birding (sweet Sir Iohn.)\nMis.Page. What hoa, gossip Ford: what hoa\nMis.Ford. Step into th' chamber, Sir Iohn\nMis.Page. How now (sweete heart) whose at home\nbesides your selfe?\nMis.Ford. Why none but mine owne people\nMis.Page. Indeed?\nMis.Ford. No certainly: Speake louder\nMist.Pag. Truly, I am so glad you haue no body here\nMist.Ford. Why?\nMis.Page. Why woman, your husband is in his olde\nlines againe: he so takes on yonder with my husband, so\nrailes against all married mankinde; so curses all Eues\ndaughters, of what complexion soeuer; and so buffettes\nhimselfe on the for-head: crying peere-out, peere-out,\nthat any madnesse I euer yet beheld, seem'd but tamenesse,\nciuility, and patience to this his distemper he is in\nnow: I am glad the fat Knight is not heere\nMist.Ford. Why, do's he talke of him?\nMist.Page. Of none but him, and sweares he was caried\nout the last time hee search'd for him, in a Basket:\nProtests to my husband he is now heere, & hath drawne\nhim and the rest of their company from their sport, to\nmake another experiment of his suspition: But I am glad\nthe Knight is not heere; now he shall see his owne foolerie\nMist.Ford. How neere is he Mistris Page?\nMist.Pag. Hard by, at street end; he wil be here anon\nMist.Ford. I am vndone, the Knight is heere\nMist.Page. Why then you are vtterly sham'd, & hee's\nbut a dead man. What a woman are you? Away with\nhim, away with him: Better shame, then murther\nMist.Ford. Which way should he go? How should I\nbestow him? Shall I put him into the basket againe?\nFal. No, Ile come no more i'th Basket:\nMay I not go out ere he come?\nMist.Page. Alas: three of Mr. Fords brothers watch\nthe doore with Pistols, that none shall issue out: otherwise\nyou might slip away ere hee came: But what make\nyou heere?\nFal. What shall I do? Ile creepe vp into the chimney\nMist.Ford. There they alwaies vse to discharge their\nBirding-peeces: creepe into the Kill-hole\nFal. Where is it?\nMist.Ford. He will seeke there on my word: Neyther\nPresse, Coffer, Chest, Trunke, Well, Vault, but he hath\nan abstract for the remembrance of such places, and goes\nto them by his Note: There is no hiding you in the\nhouse\nFal. Ile go out then\nMist.Ford. If you goe out in your owne semblance,\nyou die Sir Iohn, vnlesse you go out disguis'd\nMist.Ford. How might we disguise him?\nMist.Page. Alas the day I know not, there is no womans\ngowne bigge enough for him: otherwise he might\nput on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchiefe, and so escape\nFal. Good hearts, deuise something: any extremitie,\nrather then a mischiefe\nMist.Ford. My Maids Aunt the fat woman of Brainford,\nhas a gowne aboue\nMist.Page. On my word it will serue him: shee's as\nbig as he is: and there's her thrum'd hat, and her muffler\ntoo: run vp Sir Iohn\nMist.Ford. Go, go, sweet Sir Iohn: Mistris Page and\nI will looke some linnen for your head\nMist.Page. Quicke, quicke, wee'le come dresse you\nstraight: put on the gowne the while\nMist.Ford. I would my husband would meete him\nin this shape: he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford;\nhe sweares she's a witch, forbad her my house, and\nhath threatned to beate her\nMist.Page. Heauen guide him to thy husbands cudgell:\nand the diuell guide his cudgell afterwards\nMist.Ford. But is my husband comming?\nMist.Page. I in good sadnesse is he, and talkes of the\nbasket too, howsoeuer he hath had intelligence\nMist.Ford. Wee'l try that: for Ile appoint my men to\ncarry the basket againe, to meete him at the doore with\nit, as they did last time\nMist.Page. Nay, but hee'l be heere presently: let's go\ndresse him like the witch of Brainford\nMist.Ford. Ile first direct my men, what they\nshall doe with the basket: Goe vp, Ile bring linnen for\nhim straight\nMist.Page. Hang him dishonest Varlet,\nWe cannot misuse enough:\nWe'll leaue a proofe by that which we will doo,\nWiues may be merry, and yet honest too:\nWe do not acte that often, iest, and laugh,\n'Tis old, but true, Still Swine eats all the draugh\nMist.Ford. Go Sirs, take the basket againe on your\nshoulders: your Master is hard at doore: if hee bid you\nset it downe, obey him: quickly, dispatch\n1 Ser. Come, come, take it vp\n2 Ser. Pray heauen it be not full of Knight againe\n1 Ser. I hope not, I had liefe as beare so much lead\nFord. I, but if it proue true (Mr. Page) haue you any\nway then to vnfoole me againe. Set downe the basket\nvillaine: some body call my wife: Youth in a basket:\nOh you Panderly Rascals, there's a knot: a gin, a packe,\na conspiracie against me: Now shall the diuel be sham'd.\nWhat wife I say: Come, come forth: behold what honest\ncloathes you send forth to bleaching\nPage. Why, this passes M[aster]. Ford: you are not to goe\nloose any longer, you must be pinnion'd\nEuans. Why, this is Lunaticks: this is madde, as a\nmad dogge\nShall. Indeed M[aster]. Ford, this is not well indeed\nFord. So say I too Sir, come hither Mistris Ford, Mistris\nFord, the honest woman, the modest wife, the vertuous\ncreature, that hath the iealious foole to her husband:\nI suspect without cause (Mistris) do I?\nMist.Ford. Heauen be my witnesse you doe, if you\nsuspect me in any dishonesty\nFord. Well said Brazon-face, hold it out: Come forth\nsirrah\nPage. This passes\nMist.Ford. Are you not asham'd, let the cloths alone\nFord. I shall finde you anon\nEua. 'Tis vnreasonable; will you take vp your wiues\ncloathes? Come, away\nFord. Empty the basket I say\nM.Ford. Why man, why?\nFord. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one conuay'd\nout of my house yesterday in this basket: why\nmay not he be there againe, in my house I am sure he is:\nmy Intelligence is true, my iealousie is reasonable, pluck\nme out all the linnen\nMist.Ford. If you find a man there, he shall dye a Fleas\ndeath\nPage. Heer's no man\nShal. By my fidelity this is not well Mr. Ford: This\nwrongs you\nEuans. Mr Ford, you must pray, and not follow the\nimaginations of your owne heart: this is iealousies\nFord. Well, hee's not heere I seeke for\nPage. No, nor no where else but in your braine\nFord. Helpe to search my house this one time: if I find\nnot what I seeke, shew no colour for my extremity: Let\nme for euer be your Table-sport: Let them say of me, as\niealous as Ford, that search'd a hollow Wall-nut for his\nwiues Lemman. Satisfie me once more, once more serch\nwith me\nM.Ford. What hoa (Mistris Page,) come you and\nthe old woman downe: my husband will come into the\nChamber\nFord. Old woman? what old womans that?\nM.Ford. Why it is my maids Aunt of Brainford\nFord. A witch, a Queane, an olde couzening queane:\nHaue I not forbid her my house. She comes of errands\ndo's she? We are simple men, wee doe not know what's\nbrought to passe vnder the profession of Fortune-telling.\nShe workes by Charmes, by Spels, by th' Figure, & such\ndawbry as this is, beyond our Element: wee know nothing.\nCome downe you Witch, you Hagge you, come\ndowne I say\nMist.Ford. Nay, good sweet husband, good Gentlemen,\nlet him strike the old woman\nMist.Page. Come mother Prat, Come giue me your\nhand\nFord. Ile Prat-her: Out of my doore, you Witch,\nyou Ragge, you Baggage, you Poulcat, you Runnion,\nout, out: Ile coniure you, Ile fortune-tell you\nMist.Page. Are you not asham'd?\nI thinke you haue kill'd the poore woman\nMist.Ford. Nay he will do it, 'tis a goodly credite\nfor you\nFord. Hang her witch\nEua. By yea, and no, I thinke the o'man is a witch indeede:\nI like not when a o'man has a great peard; I spie\na great peard vnder his muffler\nFord. Will you follow Gentlemen, I beseech you follow:\nsee but the issue of my iealousie: If I cry out thus\nvpon no traile, neuer trust me when I open againe\nPage. Let's obey his humour a little further:\nCome Gentlemen\nMist.Page. Trust me he beate him most pittifully\nMist.Ford. Nay by th' Masse that he did not: he beate\nhim most vnpittifully, me thought\nMist.Page. Ile haue the cudgell hallow'd, and hung\nore the Altar, it hath done meritorious seruice\nMist.Ford. What thinke you? May we with the warrant\nof woman-hood, and the witnesse of a good conscience,\npursue him with any further reuenge?\nM.Page. The spirit of wantonnesse is sure scar'd out\nof him, if the diuell haue him not in fee-simple, with\nfine and recouery, he will neuer (I thinke) in the way of\nwaste, attempt vs againe\nMist.Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how wee haue\nseru'd him?\nMist.Page. Yes, by all meanes: if it be but to scrape\nthe figures out of your husbands braines: if they can find\nin their hearts, the poore vnuertuous fat Knight shall be\nany further afflicted, wee two will still bee the ministers\nMist.Ford. Ile warrant, they'l haue him publiquely\nsham'd, and me thinkes there would be no period to the\niest, should he not be publikely sham'd\nMist.Page. Come, to the Forge with it, then shape it:\nI would not haue things coole.\nExeunt.\nScena Tertia.\nEnter Host and Bardolfe.\nBar. Sir, the Germane desires to haue three of your\nhorses: the Duke himselfe will be to morrow at Court,\nand they are going to meet him\nHost. What Duke should that be comes so secretly?\nI heare not of him in the Court: let mee speake with the\nGentlemen, they speake English?\nBar. I Sir? Ile call him to you\nHost. They shall haue my horses, but Ile make them\npay: Ile sauce them, they haue had my houses a week at\ncommaund: I haue turn'd away my other guests, they\nmust come off, Ile sawce them, come.\nExeunt.\nScena Quarta.\nEnter Page, Ford, Mistris Page, Mistris Ford, and Euans.\nEua. 'Tis one of the best discretions of a o'man as euer\nI did looke vpon\nPage. And did he send you both these Letters at an\ninstant?\nMist.Page. Within a quarter of an houre\nFord. Pardon me (wife) henceforth do what y wilt:\nI rather will suspect the Sunne with gold,\nThen thee with wantonnes: Now doth thy honor stand\n(In him that was of late an Heretike)\nAs firme as faith\nPage. 'Tis well, 'tis well, no more:\nBe not as extreme in submission, as in offence,\nBut let our plot go forward: Let our wiues\nYet once againe (to make vs publike sport)\nAppoint a meeting with this old fat-fellow,\nWhere we may take him, and disgrace him for it\nFord. There is no better way then that they spoke of\nPage. How? to send him word they'll meete him in\nthe Parke at midnight? Fie, fie, he'll neuer come\nEu. You say he has bin throwne in the Riuers: and\nhas bin greeuously peaten, as an old o'man: me-thinkes\nthere should be terrors in him, that he should not come:\nMe-thinkes his flesh is punish'd, hee shall haue no desires\nPage. So thinke I too\nM.Ford. Deuise but how you'l vse him whe[n] he comes,\nAnd let vs two deuise to bring him thether\nMis.Page. There is an old tale goes, that Herne the\nHunter (sometime a keeper heere in Windsor Forrest)\nDoth all the winter time, at still midnight\nWalke round about an Oake, with great rag'd-hornes,\nAnd there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle,\nAnd make milch-kine yeeld blood, and shakes a chaine\nIn a most hideous and dreadfull manner.\nYou haue heard of such a Spirit, and well you know\nThe superstitious idle-headed-Eld\nReceiu'd, and did deliuer to our age\nThis tale of Herne the Hunter, for a truth\nPage. Why yet there want not many that do feare\nIn deepe of night to walke by this Hernes Oake:\nBut what of this?\nMist.Ford. Marry this is our deuise,\nThat Falstaffe at that Oake shall meete with vs\nPage. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come,\nAnd in this shape, when you haue brought him thether,\nWhat shall be done with him? What is your plot?\nMist.Pa. That likewise haue we thoght vpon: & thus:\nNan Page (my daughter) and my little sonne,\nAnd three or foure more of their growth, wee'l dresse\nLike Vrchins, Ouphes, and Fairies, greene and white,\nWith rounds of waxen Tapers on their heads,\nAnd rattles in their hands; vpon a sodaine,\nAs Falstaffe, she, and I, are newly met,\nLet them from forth a saw-pit rush at once\nWith some diffused song: Vpon their sight\nWe two, in great amazednesse will flye:\nThen let them all encircle him about,\nAnd Fairy-like to pinch the vncleane Knight;\nAnd aske him why that houre of Fairy Reuell,\nIn their so sacred pathes, he dares to tread\nIn shape prophane\nFord. And till he tell the truth,\nLet the supposed Fairies pinch him, sound,\nAnd burne him with their Tapers\nMist.Page. The truth being knowne,\nWe'll all present our selues; dis-horne the spirit,\nAnd mocke him home to Windsor\nFord. The children must\nBe practis'd well to this, or they'll neu'r doo't\nEua. I will teach the children their behauiours: and I\nwill be like a Iacke-an-Apes also, to burne the Knight\nwith my Taber\nFord. That will be excellent,\nIle go buy them vizards\nMist.Page. My Nan shall be the Queene of all the\nFairies, finely attired in a robe of white\nPage. That silke will I go buy, and in that time\nShall M[aster]. Slender steale my Nan away,\nAnd marry her at Eaton: go, send to Falstaffe straight\nFord. Nay, Ile to him againe in name of Broome,\nHee'l tell me all his purpose: sure hee'l come\nMist.Page. Feare not you that: Go get vs properties\nAnd tricking for our Fayries\nEuans. Let vs about it,\nIt is admirable pleasures, and ferry honest knaueries\nMis.Page. Go Mist[ris]. Ford,\nSend quickly to Sir Iohn, to know his minde:\nIle to the Doctor, he hath my good will,\nAnd none but he to marry with Nan Page:\nThat Slender (though well landed) is an Ideot:\nAnd he, my husband best of all affects:\nThe Doctor is well monied, and his friends\nPotent at Court: he, none but he shall haue her,\nThough twenty thousand worthier come to craue her.\nScena Quinta.\nEnter Host, Simple, Falstaffe, Bardolfe, Euans, Caius, Quickly.\nHost. What wouldst thou haue? (Boore) what? (thick\nskin) speake, breathe, discusse: breefe, short, quicke,\nsnap\nSimp. Marry Sir, I come to speake with Sir Iohn Falstaffe\nfrom M[aster]. Slender\nHost. There's his Chamber, his House, his Castle,\nhis standing-bed and truckle-bed: 'tis painted about\nwith the story of the Prodigall, fresh and new: go, knock\nand call: hee'l speake like an Anthropophaginian vnto\nthee: Knocke I say\nSimp. There's an olde woman, a fat woman gone vp\ninto his chamber: Ile be so bold as stay Sir till she come\ndowne: I come to speake with her indeed\nHost. Ha? A fat woman? The Knight may be robb'd:\nIle call. Bully-Knight, Bully Sir Iohn: speake from thy\nLungs Military: Art thou there? It is thine Host, thine\nEphesian cals\nFal. How now, mine Host?\nHost. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar taries the comming\ndowne of thy fat-woman: Let her descend (Bully) let\nher descend: my Chambers are honourable: Fie, priuacy?\nFie\nFal. There was (mine Host) an old-fat-woman euen\nnow with me, but she's gone\nSimp. Pray you Sir, was't not the Wise-woman of\nBrainford?\nFal. I marry was it (Mussel-shell) what would you\nwith her?\nSimp. My Master (Sir) my master Slender, sent to her\nseeing her go thorough the streets, to know (Sir) whether\none Nim (Sir) that beguil'd him of a chaine, had the\nchaine, or no\nFal. I spake with the old woman about it\nSim. And what sayes she, I pray Sir?\nFal. Marry shee sayes, that the very same man that\nbeguil'd Master Slender of his Chaine, cozon'd him of it\nSimp. I would I could haue spoken with the Woman\nher selfe, I had other things to haue spoken with her\ntoo, from him\nFal. What are they? let vs know\nHost. I: come: quicke\nFal. I may not conceale them (Sir.)\nHost. Conceale them, or thou di'st\nSim. Why sir, they were nothing but about Mistris\nAnne Page, to know if it were my Masters fortune to\nhaue her, or no\nFal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune\nSim. What Sir?\nFal. To haue her, or no: goe; say the woman told\nme so\nSim. May I be bold to say so Sir?\nFal. I Sir: like who more bold\nSim. I thanke your worship: I shall make my Master\nglad with these tydings\nHost. Thou art clearkly: thou art clearkly (Sir Iohn)\nwas there a wise woman with thee?\nFal. I that there was (mine Host) one that hath taught\nme more wit, then euer I learn'd before in my life: and\nI paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my learning\nBar. Out alas (Sir) cozonage: meere cozonage\nHost. Where be my horses? speake well of them varletto\nBar. Run away with the cozoners: for so soone as\nI came beyond Eaton, they threw me off, from behinde\none of them, in a slough of myre; and set spurres, and\naway; like three Germane-diuels; three Doctor Faustasses\nHost. They are gone but to meete the Duke (villaine)\ndoe not say they be fled: Germanes are honest men\nEuan. Where is mine Host?\nHost. What is the matter Sir?\nEuan. Haue a care of your entertainments: there is a\nfriend of mine come to Towne, tels mee there is three\nCozen-Iermans, that has cozend all the Hosts of Reading,\nof Maidenhead; of Cole-brooke, of horses and money: I\ntell you for good will (looke you) you are wise, and full\nof gibes, and vlouting-stocks: and 'tis not conuenient\nyou should be cozoned. Fare you well\nCai. Ver' is mine Host de Iarteere?\nHost. Here (Master Doctor) in perplexitie, and doubtfull\ndelemma\nCai. I cannot tell vat is dat: but it is tell-a-me, dat\nyou make grand preparation for a Duke de Iamanie: by\nmy trot: der is no Duke that the Court is know, to\ncome: I tell you for good will: adieu\nHost. Huy and cry, (villaine) goe: assist me Knight, I\nam vndone: fly, run: huy, and cry (villaine) I am vndone\nFal. I would all the world might be cozond, for I\nhaue beene cozond and beaten too: if it should come\nto the eare of the Court, how I haue beene transformed;\nand how my transformation hath beene washd, and\ncudgeld, they would melt mee out of my fat drop by\ndrop, and liquor Fishermens-boots with me: I warrant\nthey would whip me with their fine wits, till I were as\ncrest-falne as a dride-peare: I neuer prosper'd, since I\nforswore my selfe at Primero: well, if my winde were\nbut long enough; I would repent: Now? Whence come\nyou?\nQui. From the two parties forsooth\nFal. The Diuell take one partie, and his Dam the\nother: and so they shall be both bestowed; I haue suffer'd\nmore for their sakes; more then the villanous inconstancy\nof mans disposition is able to beare\nQui. And haue not they suffer'd? Yes, I warrant; speciously\none of them; Mistris Ford (good heart) is beaten\nblacke and blew, that you cannot see a white spot about\nher\nFal. What tell'st thou mee of blacke, and blew? I\nwas beaten my selfe into all the colours of the Rainebow:\nand I was like to be apprehended for the Witch\nof Braineford, but that my admirable dexteritie of wit,\nmy counterfeiting the action of an old woman deliuer'd\nme, the knaue Constable had set me ith' Stocks, ith' common\nStocks, for a Witch\nQu, Sir: let me speake with you in your Chamber,\nyou shall heare how things goe, and (I warrant) to your\ncontent: here is a Letter will say somewhat: (good-hearts)\nwhat adoe here is to bring you together? Sure,\none of you do's not serue heauen well, that you are so\ncross'd\nFal. Come vp into my Chamber.\nExeunt.\nScena Sexta.\nEnter Fenton, Host.\nHost. Master Fenton, talke not to mee, my minde is\nheauy: I will giue ouer all\nFen. Yet heare me speake: assist me in my purpose,\nAnd (as I am a gentleman) ile giue thee\nA hundred pound in gold, more then your losse\nHost. I will heare you (Master Fenton) and I will (at\nthe least) keepe your counsell\nFen. From time to time, I haue acquainted you\nWith the deare loue I beare to faire Anne Page,\nWho, mutually, hath answer'd my affection,\n(So farre forth, as her selfe might be her chooser)\nEuen to my wish; I haue a letter from her\nOf such contents, as you will wonder at;\nThe mirth whereof, so larded with my matter,\nThat neither (singly) can be manifested\nWithout the shew of both: fat Falstaffe\nHath a great Scene; the image of the iest\nIle show you here at large (harke good mine Host:)\nTo night at Hernes-Oke, iust 'twixt twelue and one,\nMust my sweet Nan present the Faerie-Queene:\nThe purpose why, is here: in which disguise\nWhile other Iests are something ranke on foote,\nHer father hath commanded her to slip\nAway with Slender, and with him, at Eaton\nImmediately to Marry: She hath consented: Now Sir,\nHer Mother, (euen strong against that match\nAnd firme for Doctor Caius) hath appointed\nThat he shall likewise shuffle her away,\nWhile other sports are tasking of their mindes,\nAnd at the Deanry, where a Priest attends\nStrait marry her: to this her Mothers plot\nShe seemingly obedient) likewise hath\nMade promise to the Doctor: Now, thus it rests,\nHer Father meanes she shall be all in white;\nAnd in that habit, when Slender sees his time\nTo take her by the hand, and bid her goe,\nShe shall goe with him: her Mother hath intended\n(The better to deuote her to the Doctor;\nFor they must all be mask'd, and vizarded)\nThat quaint in greene, she shall be loose en-roab'd,\nWith Ribonds-pendant, flaring 'bout her head;\nAnd when the Doctor spies his vantage ripe,\nTo pinch her by the hand, and on that token,\nThe maid hath giuen consent to go with him\nHost. Which meanes she to deceiue? Father, or Mother\nFen. Both (my good Host) to go along with me:\nAnd heere it rests, that you'l procure the Vicar\nTo stay for me at Church, 'twixt twelue, and one,\nAnd in the lawfull name of marrying,\nTo giue our hearts vnited ceremony\nHost. Well, husband your deuice; Ile to the Vicar,\nBring you the Maid, you shall not lacke a Priest\nFen. So shall I euermore be bound to thee;\nBesides, Ile make a present recompence.\nExeunt.\nActus Quintus. Scoena Prima.\nEnter Falstoffe, Quickly, and Ford.\nFal. Pre'thee no more pratling: go, Ile hold, this is\nthe third time: I hope good lucke lies in odde numbers:\nAway, go, they say there is Diuinity in odde Numbers,\neither in natiuity, chance, or death: away\nQui. Ile prouide you a chaine, and Ile do what I can\nto get you a paire of hornes\nFall. Away I say, time weares, hold vp your head &\nmince. How now M[aster]. Broome? Master Broome, the matter\nwill be knowne to night, or neuer. Bee you in the\nParke about midnight, at Hernes-Oake, and you shall\nsee wonders\nFord. Went you not to her yesterday (Sir) as you told\nme you had appointed?\nFal. I went to her (Master Broome) as you see, like a\npoore-old-man, but I came from her (Master Broome)\nlike a poore-old-woman; that same knaue (Ford hir husband)\nhath the finest mad diuell of iealousie in him (Master\nBroome) that euer gouern'd Frensie. I will tell you,\nhe beate me greeuously, in the shape of a woman: (for in\nthe shape of Man (Master Broome) I feare not Goliath\nwith a Weauers beame, because I know also, life is a\nShuttle) I am in hast, go along with mee, Ile tell you all\n(Master Broome:) since I pluckt Geese, plaide Trewant,\nand whipt Top, I knew not what 'twas to be beaten, till\nlately. Follow mee, Ile tell you strange things of this\nknaue Ford, on whom to night I will be reuenged, and I\nwill deliuer his wife into your hand. Follow, straunge\nthings in hand (M[aster]. Broome) follow.\nExeunt.\nScena Secunda.\nEnter Page, Shallow, Slender.\nPage. Come, come: wee'll couch i'th Castle-ditch,\ntill we see the light of our Fairies. Remember son Slender,\nmy\nSlen. I forsooth, I haue spoke with her, & we haue\na nay-word, how to know one another. I come to her\nin white, and cry Mum; she cries Budget, and by that\nwe know one another\nShal. That's good too: But what needes either your\nMum, or her Budget? The white will decipher her well\nenough. It hath strooke ten a' clocke\nPage. The night is darke, Light and Spirits will become\nit wel: Heauen prosper our sport. No man means\neuill but the deuill, and we shal know him by his hornes.\nLets away: follow me.\nExeunt.\nScena Tertia.\nEnter Mist.Page, Mist.Ford, Caius.\nMist.Page. Mr Doctor, my daughter is in green, when\nyou see your time, take her by the hand, away with her\nto the Deanerie, and dispatch it quickly: go before into\nthe Parke: we two must go together\nCai. I know vat I haue to do, adieu\nMist.Page. Fare you well (Sir:) my husband will not\nreioyce so much at the abuse of Falstaffe, as he will chafe\nat the Doctors marrying my daughter: But 'tis no matter;\nbetter a little chiding, then a great deale of heartbreake\nMist.Ford. Where is Nan now? and her troop of Fairies?\nand the Welch-deuill Herne?\nMist.Page. They are all couch'd in a pit hard by Hernes\nOake, with obscur'd Lights; which at the very instant\nof Falstaffes and our meeting, they will at once display to\nthe night\nMist.Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him\nMist.Page. If he be not amaz'd he will be mock'd: If\nhe be amaz'd, he will euery way be mock'd\nMist.Ford. Wee'll betray him finely\nMist.Page. Against such Lewdsters, and their lechery,\nThose that betray them, do no treachery\nMist.Ford. The houre drawes-on: to the Oake, to the\nOake.\nExeunt.\nScena Quarta.\nEnter Euans and Fairies.\nEuans. Trib, trib Fairies: Come, and remember your\nparts: be pold (I pray you) follow me into the pit, and\nwhen I giue the watch-'ords, do as I pid you: Come,\ncome, trib, trib.\nExeunt.\nScena Quinta.\nEnter Falstaffe, Mistris Page, Mistris Ford, Euans, Anne Page,\nFairies,\nPage, Ford, Quickly, Slender, Fenton, Caius, Pistoll.\nFal. The Windsor-bell hath stroke twelue: the Minute\ndrawes-on: Now the hot-bloodied-Gods assist me:\nRemember Ioue, thou was't a Bull for thy Europa, Loue\nset on thy hornes. O powerfull Loue, that in some respects\nmakes a Beast a Man: in som other, a Man a beast.\nYou were also (Iupiter) a Swan, for the loue of Leda: O\nomnipotent Loue, how nere the God drew to the complexion\nof a Goose: a fault done first in the forme of a\nbeast, (O Ioue, a beastly fault:) and then another fault,\nin the semblance of a Fowle, thinke on't (Ioue) a fowle-fault.\nWhen Gods haue hot backes, what shall poore\nmen do? For me, I am heere a Windsor Stagge, and the\nfattest (I thinke) i'th Forrest. Send me a coole rut-time\n(Ioue) or who can blame me to pisse my Tallow? Who\ncomes heere? my Doe?\nM.Ford. Sir Iohn? Art thou there (my Deere?)\nMy male-Deere?\nFal. My Doe, with the blacke Scut? Let the skie\nraine Potatoes: let it thunder, to the tune of Greenesleeues,\nhaile-kissing Comfits, and snow Eringoes: Let\nthere come a tempest of prouocation, I will shelter mee\nheere\nM.Ford. Mistris Page is come with me (sweet hart.)\nFal. Diuide me like a brib'd-Bucke, each a Haunch:\nI will keepe my sides to my selfe, my shoulders for the\nfellow of this walke; and my hornes I bequeath your\nhusbands. Am I a Woodman, ha? Speake I like Herne\nthe Hunter? Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience,\nhe makes restitution. As I am a true spirit, welcome\nM.Page. Alas, what noise?\nM.Ford. Heauen forgiue our sinnes\nFal. What should this be?\nM.Ford. M.Page. Away, away\nFal. I thinke the diuell wil not haue me damn'd,\nLeast the oyle that's in me should set hell on fire;\nHe would neuer else crosse me thus.\nEnter Fairies.\nQui. Fairies blacke, gray, greene, and white,\nYou Moone-shine reuellers, and shades of night.\nYou Orphan heires of fixed destiny,\nAttend your office, and your quality.\nCrier Hob-goblyn, make the Fairy Oyes\nPist. Elues, list your names: Silence you aiery toyes.\nCricket, to Windsor-chimnies shalt thou leape;\nWhere fires thou find'st vnrak'd, and hearths vnswept,\nThere pinch the Maids as blew as Bill-berry,\nOur radiant Queene, hates Sluts, and Sluttery\nFal. They are Fairies, he that speaks to them shall die,\nIle winke, and couch: No man their workes must eie\nEu. Wher's Bede? Go you, and where you find a maid\nThat ere she sleepe has thrice her prayers said,\nRaise vp the Organs of her fantasie,\nSleepe she as sound as carelesse infancie,\nBut those as sleepe, and thinke not on their sins,\nPinch them armes, legs, backes, shoulders, sides, & shins\nQu. About, about:\nSearch Windsor Castle (Elues) within, and out.\nStrew good lucke (Ouphes) on euery sacred roome,\nThat it may stand till the perpetuall doome,\nIn state as wholsome, as in state 'tis fit,\nWorthy the Owner, and the Owner it.\nThe seuerall Chaires of Order, looke you scowre\nWith iuyce of Balme; and euery precious flowre,\nEach faire Instalment, Coate, and seu'rall Crest,\nWith loyall Blazon, euermore be blest.\nAnd Nightly-meadow-Fairies, looke you sing\nLike to the Garters-Compasse, in a ring\nTh' expressure that it beares: Greene let it be,\nMore fertile-fresh then all the Field to see:\nAnd, Hony Soit Qui Maly-Pence, write\nIn Emrold-tuffes, Flowres purple, blew, and white,\nLike Saphire-pearle, and rich embroiderie,\nBuckled below faire Knight-hoods bending knee;\nFairies vse Flowres for their characterie.\nAway, disperse: But till 'tis one a clocke,\nOur Dance of Custome, round about the Oke\nOf Herne the Hunter, let vs not forget\nEuan. Pray you lock hand in hand: your selues in order set:\nAnd twenty glow-wormes shall our Lanthornes bee\nTo guide our Measure round about the Tree.\nBut stay, I smell a man of middle earth\nFal. Heauens defend me from that Welsh Fairy,\nLeast he transforme me to a peece of Cheese\nPist. Vilde worme, thou wast ore-look'd euen in thy\nbirth\nQu. With Triall-fire touch me his finger end:\nIf he be chaste, the flame will backe descend\nAnd turne him to no paine: but if he start,\nIt is the flesh of a corrupted hart\nPist. A triall, come\nEua. Come: will this wood take fire?\nFal. Oh, oh, oh\nQui. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire.\nAbout him (Fairies) sing a scornfull rime,\nAnd as you trip, still pinch him to your time.\nThe Song.\nFie on sinnefull phantasie: Fie on Lust, and Luxurie:\nLust is but a bloudy fire, kindled with vnchaste desire,\nFed in heart whose flames aspire,\nAs thoughts do blow them higher and higher.\nPinch him (Fairies) mutually: Pinch him for his villanie.\nPinch him, and burne him, and turne him about,\nTill Candles, & Star-light, & Moone-shine be out\nPage. Nay do not flye, I thinke we haue watcht you\nnow: Will none but Herne the Hunter serue your\nturne?\nM.Page. I pray you come, hold vp the iest no higher.\nNow (good Sir Iohn) how like you Windsor wiues?\nSee you these husband? Do not these faire yoakes\nBecome the Forrest better then the Towne?\nFord. Now Sir, whose a Cuckold now?\nMr Broome, Falstaffes a Knaue, a Cuckoldly knaue,\nHeere are his hornes Master Broome:\nAnd Master Broome, he hath enioyed nothing of Fords,\nbut his Buck-basket, his cudgell, and twenty pounds of\nmoney, which must be paid to Mr Broome, his horses are\narrested for it, Mr Broome\nM.Ford. Sir Iohn, we haue had ill lucke: wee could\nneuer meete: I will neuer take you for my Loue againe,\nbut I will alwayes count you my Deere\nFal. I do begin to perceiue that I am made an Asse\nFord. I, and an Oxe too: both the proofes are extant\nFal. And these are not Fairies:\nI was three or foure times in the thought they were not\nFairies, and yet the guiltinesse of my minde, the sodaine\nsurprize of my powers, droue the grossenesse of the foppery\ninto a receiu'd beleefe, in despight of the teeth of\nall rime and reason, that they were Fairies. See now\nhow wit may be made a Iacke-a-Lent, when 'tis vpon ill\nimployment\nEuans. Sir Iohn Falstaffe, serue Got, and leaue your\ndesires, and Fairies will not pinse you\nFord. Well said Fairy Hugh\nEuans. And leaue you your iealouzies too, I pray\nyou\nFord. I will neuer mistrust my wife againe, till thou\nart able to woo her in good English\nFal. Haue I laid my braine in the Sun, and dri'de it,\nthat it wants matter to preuent so grosse ore-reaching as\nthis? Am I ridden with a Welch Goate too? Shal I haue\na Coxcombe of Frize? Tis time I were choak'd with a\npeece of toasted Cheese\nEu. Seese is not good to giue putter; your belly is al\nputter\nFal. Seese, and Putter? Haue I liu'd to stand at the\ntaunt of one that makes Fritters of English? This is enough\nto be the decay of lust and late-walking through\nthe Realme\nMist.Page. Why Sir Iohn, do you thinke though wee\nwould haue thrust vertue out of our hearts by the head\nand shoulders, and haue giuen our selues without scruple\nto hell, that euer the deuill could haue made you our\ndelight?\nFord. What, a hodge-pudding? A bag of flax?\nMist.Page. A puft man?\nPage. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intollerable entrailes?\nFord. And one that is as slanderous as Sathan?\nPage. And as poore as Iob?\nFord. And as wicked as his wife?\nEuan. And giuen to Fornications, and to Tauernes,\nand Sacke, and Wine, and Metheglins, and to drinkings\nand swearings, and starings? Pribles and prables?\nFal. Well, I am your Theame: you haue the start of\nme, I am deiected: I am not able to answer the Welch\nFlannell, Ignorance it selfe is a plummet ore me, vse me\nas you will\nFord. Marry Sir, wee'l bring you to Windsor to one\nMr Broome, that you haue cozon'd of money, to whom\nyou should haue bin a Pander: ouer and aboue that you\nhaue suffer'd, I thinke, to repay that money will be a biting\naffliction\nPage. Yet be cheerefull Knight: thou shalt eat a posset\nto night at my house, wher I will desire thee to laugh\nat my wife, that now laughes at thee: Tell her Mr Slender\nhath married her daughter\nMist.Page. Doctors doubt that;\nIf Anne Page be my daughter, she is (by this) Doctour\nCaius wife\nSlen. Whoa hoe, hoe, Father Page\nPage. Sonne? How now? How now Sonne,\nHaue you dispatch'd?\nSlen. Dispatch'd? Ile make the best in Glostershire\nknow on't: would I were hang'd la, else\nPage. Of what sonne?\nSlen. I came yonder at Eaton to marry Mistris Anne\nPage, and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not bene\ni'th Church, I would haue swing'd him, or hee should\nhaue swing'd me. If I did not thinke it had beene Anne\nPage, would I might neuer stirre, and 'tis a Post-masters\nBoy\nPage. Vpon my life then, you tooke the wrong\nSlen. What neede you tell me that? I think so, when\nI tooke a Boy for a Girle: If I had bene married to him,\n(for all he was in womans apparrell) I would not haue\nhad him\nPage. Why this is your owne folly,\nDid not I tell you how you should know my daughter,\nBy her garments?\nSlen. I went to her in greene, and cried Mum, and\nshe cride budget, as Anne and I had appointed, and yet\nit was not Anne, but a Post-masters boy\nMist.Page. Good George be not angry, I knew of\nyour purpose: turn'd my daughter into white, and indeede\nshe is now with the Doctor at the Deanrie, and\nthere married\nCai. Ver is Mistris Page: by gar I am cozoned, I ha\nmarried oon Garsoon, a boy; oon pesant, by gar. A boy,\nit is not An Page, by gar, I am cozened\nM.Page. Why? did you take her in white?\nCai. I bee gar, and 'tis a boy: be gar, Ile raise all\nWindsor\nFord. This is strange: Who hath got the right Anne?\nPage. My heart misgiues me, here comes Mr Fenton.\nHow now Mr Fenton?\nAnne. Pardon good father, good my mother pardon\nPage. Now Mistris:\nHow chance you went not with Mr Slender?\nM.Page. Why went you not with Mr Doctor, maid?\nFen. You do amaze her: heare the truth of it,\nYou would haue married her most shamefully,\nWhere there was no proportion held in loue:\nThe truth is, she and I (long since contracted)\nAre now so sure that nothing can dissolue vs:\nTh' offence is holy, that she hath committed,\nAnd this deceit looses the name of craft,\nOf disobedience, or vnduteous title,\nSince therein she doth euitate and shun\nA thousand irreligious cursed houres\nWhich forced marriage would haue brought vpon her\nFord. Stand not amaz'd, here is no remedie:\nIn Loue, the heauens themselues do guide the state,\nMoney buyes Lands, and wiues are sold by fate\nFal. I am glad, though you haue tane a special stand\nto strike at me, that your Arrow hath glanc'd\nPage. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heauen giue thee\nioy, what cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd\nFal. When night-dogges run, all sorts of Deere are\nchac'd\nMist.Page. Well, I will muse no further: Mr Fenton,\nHeauen giue you many, many merry dayes:\nGood husband, let vs euery one go home,\nAnd laugh this sport ore by a Countrie fire,\nSir Iohn and all\nFord. Let it be so (Sir Iohn:)\nTo Master Broome, you yet shall hold your word,\nFor he, to night, shall lye with Mistris Ford:\nExeunt.\nFINIS. THE Merry Wiues of Windsor.","title":"The Merry Wiues of Windsor","type":"page"}