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The Street in Windsor.

Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Dr. Caius.

Mrs. Page. Master doctor, my daughter is in green : when you see your time, take her by the hand, away with her to the deanery, and despatch it quickly: Go before into the park; we two must go together.

Caius. I know vat I have to do; Adieu.

Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. (Exit Caius.] My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying my daughter : but 'tis no matter; better a little chiding, than a great deal of heart-break.

Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies? and the Welsh devil, Hugh?

Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard by Herne's oak, with obscured lights; which, at the very instant of Falstaff's and our meeting, they will at once display to the night.

Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze bim. Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be mock. ed; if he be amazed, he will every way be mocked.

Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely.
Mrs. Page. Against such lewdsters, and their

Those that betray them do no treachery.

Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on ; To the oak, to the oak.



Windsor Park.

Enter Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies.

Eda. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your parts: be pold, I pray you; follow me into the pit; and when I give the watch'ords, do as I pid you ; Come, come ; trib, trib. (Exeunt.


Another part of the Park.

Enter Falstaff disguised, with a buck's head on.

Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute draws on: Now, the hot-blooded gods assist me!- Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; love set on thy horas.-O powerful love! that, in some respects, makes a beast a man; in some other, a man a beast.-You were also, Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda ;-0, omnipotent love ! how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose! -A fault done first in the form of a beast;-O Jose, a beastly fault! and then another fault in the semblance of a fowl; think on't, Jove; a foul fault. When gods have hot backs, what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor stag; and the fattest, I think, i' the forest : send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes here ? my doe?

Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page.

Mrs. Ford. Sir Joho? art thou there, my deer? my male deer?

Fal. My doe with the black scut?- Let the sky rain potatoes, let it thunder to the tune of Green Sleeves, hail kissing-comfits, and snow eringoes; let there come a tempest of provocation, I will shelter me here.

[Embracing her. Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, sweet. heart.

Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch: I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. “Am I a woodman? ha! Speak I like Herne the hunter!-- Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution. As I am a true spirit, welcome!

[Noise within, Mrs. Page. Alas! what noise? Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins !

Fal. What should this be Mrs. Ford

Away, away. ; [They run off. Mrs. Page.

Fal. I think, the devil will not have me damned. lest the oil that is in me should set hell on fire: he would never else cross me thus.

Enter Sir Hugh Evans, like a satyr; Mrs. Quickly

and Pistol; Anne Page, as the Fairy Queen, attended by her brother and others, dressed like fairies, with waren tapers on their heads.

Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, You moon-shine revellers, and shades of night, You orphan-heirs of fixed destiny,

• Keeper of the forest,

Attend your office, and your quality
Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes.
Pist. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy

toys. Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap: Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths un

swept, There pinch the maids as blue as bilberryt: Our radiant queen hates sluts, and sluttery.

Fal. They are fairies; he, that speaks to them,

- shall die. I'll wink and couch : No man their works must eye.

[Lies down upon his face. Eva. Where's Pede?-Go you, and where you

find a maid, That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, Raise up the organs of her fantasy, Sleep she as sound as careless infancy; But those as sleep, and think not on their sins, Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and

ships. Quick. About, about; Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out: Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room; That it may stand till the perpetual doom, In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit; Worthy the owner, and the owner it. The several chairs of order look you scour With juice of balm, and every precious flower: Each fair, instalment, coat, and several crest, With loyal blazon, evermore be plest! And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing, Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring: The expressure that it bears, green let it be, More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; And, Hony soit qui mal y pense, write, In'emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white;

• Fellowship.

+ Whortleberry.

Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery,
Buckled below fair knight-hood's bending knee:
Fairies use flowers for their charactery.
Away; disperse: But, till 'tis one o'clock,
Our dance of custom, round about the oak ,
Of Herne the hunter, let us not forget.
Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in

order set:
Aud twenty glow-worms shall our lapterus be,
To guide our measure round about the tree.
But, stay: I smell a man of middle carth.

Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he transform me to a piece of cheese! Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'er-look'd even in thy

Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end:
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend,
And turn him to no pain; but if he start,
It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.

Pist. A trial, come.

Conie, will this wood take fire?

[They burn him with their tapers. Fal. Oh, oh, oh! Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire! About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme: . And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.

Eva. It is right; indeed he is full of locheries and iniquity.


Fye on sinful fantasy!
Fye on lust and lurury!
Lust is but a bloody fire,
Kindled with unchaste desire,
Fed in heart; whose flames aspire,
As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.

The letters,

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