Mrs. Ford.

What, John! what, Robert!

Mrs. Page.

Quickly, quickly: Is the buck-basket—

Mrs. Ford.

I warrant;—What, Robin, I say.

Mrs. Page.

Come, come, come.

Mrs. Ford.

Here, set it down.

Mrs. Page.

Give your men the charge; we must be brief.

Mrs. Ford.

Marry, as I told you before, John, and Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew-house; and when I suddenly call you, come forth, and (without any pause, or staggering,) take this basket on your shoulders: that done, trudge with it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters^{8 note} in Datchet mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch, close by the Thames side.

Mrs. Page.

You will do it?

Mrs. Ford.

I have told them over and over; they lack no direction: Be gone, and come when you are called.

Mrs. Page.

Here comes little Robin.

Mrs. Ford.

How now, my eyas-musket^{9 note}

Rob.

My master sir John is come in at your back-door, mistress Ford; and requests your company.

Mrs. Page.

You little Jack-a-lent^{1 note}

Rob.

Ay, I'll be sworn: My master knows not of your being here; and hath threatened to put me into everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it; for, he swears, he'll turn me away.

Mrs. Page.

Thou'rt a good boy; this secrecy of thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a new doublet and hose.—I'll go hide me.

Mrs. Ford.

Do so:—Go tell thy master, I am alone. Mistress Page, remember you your cue.

Mrs. Page.

I warrant thee; if I do not act it, hiss me.

Mrs. Ford.

Go to then; we'll use this unwholesome humidity, this gross watry pumpion;—we'll teach him to know turtles from jays^{2 note}

.

Fal.

Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel^{3 note}? Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough^{4 note}

Mrs. Ford.

O sweet sir John!

Fal.

Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish: I

would thy husband were dead: I'll speak it before the best lord, I would make thee my lady.

Mrs. Ford.

I your lady, sir John! alas, I should be a pitiful lady.

Fal.

Let the court of France show me such another; I see how thine eye would emulate the diamond: Thou hast the right arched bent^{5 note}

Mrs. Ford.

A plain kerchief, sir John: my brows become nothing else; nor that well neither.

Fal.

By the Lord, thou art a traitor^{7 note}

Mrs. Ford.

Believe me, there's no such thing in me.

Fal.

What made me love thee? let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. Come, I cannot cog, and say, thou art this and that, like a many of these lisping haw-thorn buds, that come like women in men's apparel, and smell like Bucklers-bury^{1 note} in simple-time; I cannot: but I love thee^{2 note}




; none but thee; and thou deservest it.

Mrs. Ford.

Do not betray me, sir; I fear, you love mistress Page.

Fal.

Thou might'st as well say, I love to walk by the Counter-gate; which is as hateful to me as the reek of a lime-kiln^{3 note}

.

Mrs. Ford.

Well, heaven knows, how I love you; and you shall one day find it.

Fal.

Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it.

Mrs. Ford.

Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could not be in that mind.

Rob. [Within.]

Mistress Ford, mistress Ford! here's mistress Page at the door, sweating, and blowing, and looking wildly, and would needs speak with you presently.

Fal.

She shall not see me; I will ensconce me behind the arras^{4 note}.

Mrs. Ford.

Pray you, do so; she's a very tattling woman.— [Falstaff hides himself. Enter Mistress Page and Robin. What's the matter? how now?

Mrs. Page.

O mistress Ford, what have you done? You're shamed, you are overthrown, you are undone for ever.

Mrs. Ford.

What's the matter, good mistress Page?

Mrs. Page.

O well-a-day, mistress Ford! having an honest man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion!

Mrs. Ford.

What cause of suspicion?

Mrs. Page.

What cause of suspicion?—Out upon you! how am I mistook in you!

Mrs. Ford.

Why, alas! what's the matter?

Mrs. Page.

Your husband's coming hither, woman, with all the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman, that, he says, is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence: You are undone.

Mrs. Ford.

Speak louder^{5 note}.—[Aside.]—'Tis not so, I hope.

Mrs. Page.

Pray heaven it be not so, that you

have such a man here; but 'tis most certain your husband's coming with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one. I come before to tell you: If you know yourself clear, why I am glad of it: but if you have a friend here, convey, convey him out. Be not amazed; call all your senses to you; defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good life for ever.

Mrs. Ford.

What shall I do?—There is a gentleman, my dear friend; and I fear not mine own shame, so much as his peril: I had rather than a thousand pound, he were out of the house.

Mrs. Page.

For shame, never stand you had rather, and you had rather; your husband's here at hand, bethink you of some conveyance: in the house you cannot hide him.—O, how have you deceived me!—Look, here is a basket; if he be of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking: Or, it is whiting-time^{6 note}, send him by your two men to Datchet mead.

Mrs. Ford.

He's too big to go in there: What shall I do?

Fal.

Let me see't, let me see't! O let me see't! I'll in, I'll in;—follow your friend's counsel;— I'll in.

Mrs. Page.

What! sir John Falstaff! Are these your letters, knight?

Fal.

I love thee, and none but thee^{7 note}; help me away: let me creep in here; I'll never—

Mrs. Page.

Help to cover your master, boy: Call your men, mistress Ford:—You dissembling knight!

Mrs. Ford.

What, John, Robert, John! [Exit Robin. Re-enter Servants.] Go take up these clothes here, quickly; Where's the cowl-staff^{8 note}

Enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans.

Ford.

Pray you, come near: if I suspect without cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be your jest; I deserve it.—How now? whither bear you this?

Serv.

To the laundress, forsooth.

Mrs. Ford.

Why, what have you to do whither they bear it? You were best meddle with buck-washing.

Ford.

Buck? I would I could wash myself of the buck! Buck, buck, buck? Ay, buck; I warrant you, buck; and of the season too, it shall appear^{1 note}

Page.

Good master Ford, be contented: you wrong yourself too much.

Ford.

True, master Page.—Up, gentlemen; you shall see sport anon: follow me, gentlemen.

Eva.

This is fery fantastical humours, and jealousies.

Caius.

By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France: it is not jealous in France.

Page.

Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his search.