basket: why may not he be there again? In my
house I am sure he is: my intelligence is true;
my jealousy is reasonable. Pluck me out all the
linen.

Mrs Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die a 150
flea's death.

Page. Here's no man.

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

Evans. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the imaginations of your own heart: this is jealousies.

Ford. Well, he 's not here I seek for.

Page. No, nor nowhere else but in your brain.

Ford. Help to search my house this one time. If I 160 find not what I seek, show no colour for my extremity; let me for ever be your table-sport; let them say of me, 'As jealous as Ford, that searched a hollow walnut for his wife's leman.' Satisfy me once more; once more search with

me.

Mrs Ford. What, ho, Mistress 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 Brentford.
Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean!

Have I not forbid her my house? She comes
of errands, does she? We are simple men; we
do not know what's brought to pass under the
profession of fortune-telling. She works by
charms, by spells, by the figure, and such daub-
ery as this is beyond our element: we know

170

251944

nothing. Come down, you witch, you hag, you;

come down, I say!

Mrs Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband!-Good gen- 180 tlemen, let him not strike the old woman.

Re-enter Falstaff in woman's clothes, and Mistress Page.

Mrs Page. Come, Mother Prat; come, give me your hand.

Ford. I'll prat her. [Beating him] Out of my door, you witch, you rag, you baggage, you polecat, you ronyon! out, out! I'll conjure you, I'll fortune-tell you.

[Exit Falstaff. Mrs Page. Are you not ashamed? I think you have

killed the poor woman.

Mrs Ford. Nay, he will do it. 'Tis a goodly credit 190

for you.

Ford. Hang her, witch!

Evans. By yea and no, I think the 'oman is a witch indeed: I like not when a 'oman has a great peard; I spy a great peard under his muffler. Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you, follow; see but the issue of my jealousy: if I cry out thus upon no trail, never trust me when I open again.

Page. Let's obey his humour a little further: come, 200 gentlemen.

[Exeunt Ford, Page, Shal., Caius, and Evans. Mrs Page. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. Mrs Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not; he beat him most unpitifully methought.

Mrs Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed and hung o'er the altar; it hath done meritorious service.

Ford. "I'll prat her.-(Beating him) Out of my door, you witch, you hag, you baggage, you polecat, you ronyon!
Out, out! I'll conjure you, I'll fortune-tell you.'

The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act 4, Scene 2.

Mrs Ford. What think you? may we, with the war

rant of womanhood and the witness of a good
conscience, pursue him with any further re-
venge?

Mrs Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, scared 210 out of him: if the devil have him not in feesimple, with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of waste, attempt us again.

Mrs Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we have served him?

If

Mrs Page. Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the figures out of your husband's brains. they can find in their hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight shall be any further afflicted, we two will still be the ministers.

Mrs Ford. I'll warrant they'll have him publicly shamed: and methinks there would be no period to the jest, should he not be publicly shamed. Mrs Page. Come, to the forge with it, then; shape it: I would not have things cool. [Exeunt.

Scene III.

A room in the Garter Inn.

Enter Host and Bardolph.

Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your horses: the duke himself will be to-morrow at court, and they are going to meet him.

Host. What duke should that be comes so secretly? I hear not of him in the court. Let me speak with the gentlemen: they speak English?

220