Page images
PDF
EPUB

not only, miftrefs Ford, in the fimple office of love, but in all the accouftrement, complement, and ceremony of it. But are you fure of your husband now?

Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, fweet Sir John.

Mrs. Page. [within.] What hoa, goffip Ford! what hoa!

Mrs. Ford. Step into th' chamber, Sir John.

Enter Mistress Page.

Exit Falftaff.

Mrs. Page. How now, fweet heart, who's at home befides yourself?

Mrs. Ford. Why none but mine own people.

Mrs. Page. Indeed?

Mrs. Ford. No, certainly-Speak louder.

[Afide.

Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have no body here.

Mrs. Ford. Why?

Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes again; he to takes on yonder with my husband, fo rails against all married mankind, fo curfes all Eve's daughters, of what complexion foever, and fo buffets. himself on the forehead, crying, peer-out, peer-out! that any madness I ever yet beheld feem'd but tame. nefs, civility, and patience, to this diftemper he is in now; I am glad, the fat knight is not here.

Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him?

and

Mrs. Page. Of none but him? and fwears, he was carry'd out, the laft time he fearch'd for him, in a basket; protefts to my husband, he is now here; hath drawn him and the reft of their company from their fport, to make another experiment of his fufpicion; but I am glad, the Knight is not here; now he fhall fee his own foolery.

Mrs. Ford. How near is he, miftrefs Page?

Mrs. Page. Hard by, at ftreet's end, he will be here

anon.

Mrs. Ford. I am undone, the Knight is here. Mrs. Page. Why, then thou art utterly fham'd, and he's but a dead man. What a woman are you? away

with him, away with him; better fhame than murder. Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go? how fhould I bestow him? shall I put him into the basket again?

Enter Falstaff.

Fal. No, I'll come no more i' th' basket: may I not go out, ere he come?

Mrs. Page. Alas! alas! three of mafter Ford's brothers watch the door with pistols, that none should iffue out, otherwise you might flip away ere he came : but what make you here?

Fal. What shall I do? I'll creep up into the chimney. Mrs. Ford. There they always ufe to discharge their birding-pieces; creep into the kill-hole.

Fal. Where is it?

Mrs. Ford. He will feek there, on my word; neither prefs, coffer, cheft, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abftract for the remembrance of fuch places, and goes to them by his note; there is no hiding you in the house.

Fal. I'll go out then.

Mrs. Ford. If you go out in your own femblance, you die, Sir John, unless you go out difguis'd. How might we difguife him?

Mrs. Page. Alas-the day, I know not; there is no woman's gown big enough for him; otherwife, he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchiet, and fo efcape.

Fal. Good heart, devife fomething; any extremity,

rather than mischief.

Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brainford, has a gown above.

Mrs. Page. On my word, it will ferve him; fhe's as big as he is, and there's her thrumb hat, and her muffler too. Run up, Sir John.

Mrs. Ford. Go, go, fweet Sir John; miftrefs Page and I will look fome linnen for your head.

Mrs. Page. Quick, quick, we'll come drefs you Atraight; put on the gown the while.

[Exit Falftaff.

Mrs.

Mrs. Ford. I would, my husband would meet him in this fhape; he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford; he fwears, fhe's a witch, forbade her my house, and hath threatened to beat her.

Mrs. Page. Heav'n guide him to thy husband's cudgel, and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards!

Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming?

Mrs. Page. Ay, in good fadnefs is he; and talks of the basket too, however he hath had intelligence.

Mrs. Ford. We'll try that; for I'll appoint my men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the door with it, as they did last time.

Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here prefently; let's go drefs him like the witch of Brainford.

Mrs. Ford. I'll firft direct my men, what they shall do with the basket; go up, I'll bring linnen for him ftraight.

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishoneft varlet, we cannot mifufe him enough.

We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do,
Wives may be merry, and yet honest too.
We do not act, that often jeft and laugh :
"Tis old but true, Still fwine eats all the draugh.

Mrs. Ford. Go, Sirs, take the basket again on your fhoulders; your mafter is hard at door; if he bid you fet it down, obey him: quickly, dispatch.

[Exeunt Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford.

Enter Servants with the basket.

1 Serv. Come, come, take up.

2 Serv. Pray heav'n, it be not full of the Knight again.

1 Serv. I hope not. I had as lief bear fo much lead.

Enter Ford, Shallow, Page, Caius and Evans. Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, mafter, Page, have you any way then to unfool me again? fet down the basket, villain; fomebody call my wife: youth in a basket! oh you panderly rafcals, there's a knot, a gang, a pack, a confpiracy, againft me; now fhall the

devil be fham'd. What! wife, I fay; come, come forth, behold what honeft cloaths you fend forth to bleaching.

Page. Why, this paffes, mafter Ford,

-you are not.

to go loofe any longer, you must be pinnion'd.

Eva. Why, this is lunaticks; this is mad as a mad dog. Enter Mrs. Ford.

Shal. Indeed, mafter Ford, this is not well, indeed. Ford. So fay I too, Sir. Come hither, mistress Ford; miftrefs Ford, the honest woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous fool to her hufband! I fufpect without caufe, miftrefs, do I?

Mrs. Ford. Heav'n be my witnefs you do, if you fufpect me in any dishonefty.

Ford. Well faid, brazen-face; hold it out: come forth, firrah. [Pulls the cloaths out of the basket.

Page. This paffes,

Mrs. Ford. Are you not afham'd, let the cloaths alone. Ford. I fhall find you anon.

Eva. 'Tis unreafonable; will you take up your wife's cloaths? come away.

Ford. Empty the basket, I fay.
Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why?

Ford. Mafter Page, as I am a man, there was one convey'd out of my houfe yesterday in this basket; why may not he be there again in my houfe I am fure he is; my intelligence is true, my jealousy is reafonable; pluck me out all the linnen.

Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die a flea's death.

Page. Here's no man.

Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, mafter Ford; this wrongs you.

Eva. Mafter Ford, you must pray, and not follow the imaginations of your own heart; this is jealoufies. Ford. Well, he's not here I feek for.

Page. No, nor no where else but in your brain. Ford. Help to fearch my house this one time; if I find not what I feek, fhew no colour for my extremity;

let

let me for ever be your table sport; let them fay of me, as jealous as Ford, that fearched a hollow wall nut for his wife's leman. Satisfy me once more, once more fearch with me.

Mrs. Ford. What hoa, miftrefs Page! come you, and the old woman down; my husband will come into the chamber.

Ford. Old woman! what old woman's that?

Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brainford. Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean; have I not forbid her my houfe? fhe comes of errands, does the? we are fimple men, we do not know what's brought to pafs under the profeffion of fortune-telling. She works by charms, by fpells, by th' figure; and fuch dawbry as this is beyond our element; we know nothing. Come down, you witch; you hag you, come down, I fay.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, good sweet husband; good gentlemen, let him not ftrike the old woman.

Enter Falstaff in womens cloathes, and Mrs. Page. Mrs. Page. Come, mother Prat, come, give me your hand.

Ford, I'll Prat her. Out of my door, you witch! [Beats bim.] you hag, you baggage, you poulcat, you runnion! out, out, out; I'll conjure you, I'll fortunetell you. [Exit Fal. Mrs. Page. Are you not asham'd? I think, you have kill'd the poor woman.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it; 'tis a goodly credit for you.

Ford. Hang her, witch.

Eva. By yea and no, I think, the o'man is a witch indeed I like not, when a o'man has a great peard; I fpy a great peard under her muffler.

:

Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen? I befeech you, follow; fee but the iffue of my jealousy; (21) if I cry 4+ fol.

out

(21) If I cry out thus upon no tryal, never trust me when I open again.] This is a corruption of the modern editions: the confequence

« PreviousContinue »