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

Enter Falftaff.

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 piftols, that none fhould iffue out, otherwise you might flip away ere he came; but what make you here?

Fal. What fhall 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 abstract for the remembrance of fuch places, and goes to them by his note; there is no hiding you in the houfe.

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; otherwise, he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, 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 Run up, Sir John.

muffler too.

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

ftraight; 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, she'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 fadness 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 presently; 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 dishonest 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 master 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.

I Serv. Come, come, take up.

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

Serv. I hope not. I had as leaf 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 bafket, villain; fomebody call my wife: youth in a basket! ob you panderly rafcals, there's a knot, a gang, a pack, a confpiracy, againft me; now fall the

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

-you are not

Page. Why, this paffes, master Ford. to go loose any longer, you must be pinnion'd. Eva. Why, this is lunaticks; this is mad as a mad dog.

Enter Mrs. Ford.

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

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

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

Page. This paffles.

Mrs. Ford. Are you not asham'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 say.
Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why?

Ford. Mafter Page, as I am a man, there was one convey'd out of my houfe yefterday in this basket; why may not he be there again? in my houfe I am fure he is; my intelligence is true, my jealoufy is reasonable; 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 ek, fhew no colour for

my extremity;

let

let me for ever be your table fport; 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 house? fhe comes of errands, does fhe? we are fimple men, we do not know what's brought to pass 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 fweet husband; good gentlemen, let him not ftrike the old woman..

Enter Falstaff in womens clothes, 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 him.] you hag, you baggage, you poulcat, you runnion! out, out, out; I'll conjure you, I'll fortune tell you. [Exit. Fal. Mrs. Page. Are you not afham'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 spy a great peard under her muffler.

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

out

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

out thus upon no trail, never truft me when I open again. Page. Let's obey his humour a little further: come, gentlemen. [Exeunt. Mrs. Page. Truft me, he beat him moft pitifully. Mrs. Ford. Nay, by th' mafs, that he did not; he beat him most unpitifully, methought.

Mrs. Page. I'll have the cudgel hallow'd and hung o'er the altar; it hath done meritorious fervice.

Mrs. Ford. What think you? may we, with the warrant of woman-hood, and the witness of a good confcience, pursue him with any further revenge?

Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonnefs is, fure, scar'd out of him; if the devil have him not in fee-fimple, with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of wafte, attempt us again.

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

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

Mrs. Ford. I'll warrant, they'll have him publicly fham'd; and, methinks, there would be no period to the jeft, fhould he not be publicly fham'd.

Mrs. Page. Come to the forge with it, then fhape it: I would not have things cool.

Bard.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Garter-Inn.

Enter Hoft and Bardolph.

IR, the German defires to have three of your horfes; the Duke himfelf will be to morrow

at Court, and they are going to meet him.

Hoft. What Duke fhould that be, comes fo fecretly? I hear not of him in the Court: let me fpeak with the gentlemen; they speak English?

either of indolence, or ignorance.

The two firft Folios have it rightly, trayle; which is a hunting term, and correfponds with cry. t, and open. Our Author ufes the word again twice in his Hamlet. Or elfe this brain of mine hunts not the trayle of policy, &c. How chearfully on the falfe trayle they cry!

Bard.