Ford.
Fal.
Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up
my sufferance: I see, you are obsequious in your
love9 note
, and I profess requital to a hair's breadth;
not only, Mrs. Ford, in the simple office of love,
but in all the accoutrement, complement, and ceremony
of it. But are you sure of your husband now?
-- 148 --
Mrs. Ford.
He's a birding, sweet sir John.
Mrs. Page. [Within.]
What hoa, gossip Ford!
what hoa!
Mrs. Ford.
Step into the chamber, sir John.
[Exit Falstaff.
Enter Mrs. Page.
Mrs. Page.
How now, sweetheart? who's at
home besides yourself?
Mrs. Ford.
Why, none but mine own people.
Mrs. Page.
Indeed?
Mrs. Ford.
No, certainly;—Speak louder.
[Aside.
Mrs. Page.
Truly, I am so glad you have nobody
here.
Mrs. Ford.
Why?
Mrs. Page.
Why, woman, your husband is in his
old lunes1 note
again: he so takes on2 note
yonder with my
husband; so rails against all married mankind; so
curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion soever;
and so buffets himself on the forehead, crying,
Peer-out, Peer-out!3 note
that any madness, I ever yet
beheld, seemed but tameness, civility, and patience,
-- 149 --
to this his distemper he is in now: I am glad the
fat knight is not here.
Mrs. Ford.
Why, does he talk of him?
Mrs. Page.
Of none but him; and swears, he
was carried out, the last time he searched for him,
in a basket: protests to my husband, he is now here;
and hath drawn him and the rest of their company
from their sport, to make another experiment of his
suspicion: but I am glad the knight is not here;
now he shall see his own foolery.
Mrs. Ford.
How near is he, mistress Page?
Mrs. Page.
Hard by; at street end; he will be
here anon.
Mrs. Ford.
I am undone!—the knight is here.
Mrs. Page.
Why, then you are utterly shamed,
and he's but a dead man. What a woman are
you?—Away with him, away with him; better
shame than murder.
Mrs. Ford.
Which way should he go? how
should I bestow him? Shall I put him into the
basket again?
Re-enter Falstaff.
Fal.
No, I'll come no more i' the basket: May
I not go out, ere he come?
Mrs. Page.
Alas, three of master Ford's brothers
watch the door with pistols4 note
, that none shall issue
out; otherwise you might slip away ere he came.
But what make you here5 note
?
-- 150 --
Fal.
What shall I do?—I'll creep up into the
chimney.
Mrs. Ford.
There they always use to discharge
their birding-pieces: Creep into the kiln-hole6 note.
Fal.
Where is it?
Mrs. Ford.
He will seek there, on my word.
Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but
he hath an abstract7 note
for the remembrance of such
places, and goes to them by his note: There is no
hiding you in the house.
Fal.
I'll go out then.
Mrs. Page.
If you go8 note out in your own semblance,
you die, sir John. Unless you go out disguised,—
Mrs. Ford.
How might we disguise 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 so escape.
-- 151 --
Fal.
Good hearts, devise something: any extremity,
rather than a mischief.
Mrs. Ford.
My maid's aunt, the fat woman of
Brentford, has a gown above.
Mrs. Page.
On my own word, it will serve him; she's
as big as he is: and there's her thrum'd hat, and her
muffler too9 note
: Run up, sir John.
Mrs. Ford.
Go, go, sweet sir John: mistress
Page and I will look some linen for your head.
Mrs. Page.
Quick, quick; we'll come dress you
straight: put on the gown the while.
[Exit Falstaff.
Mrs. Ford.
I would, my husband would meet
him in this shape: he cannot abide the old woman
of Brentford; he swears, she's a witch; forbade her
my house, and hath threatened to beat her.
Mrs. Page.
Heaven 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 sadness, is he; and
-- 152 --
talks of the basket too, howsoever 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 dress him like the witch of Brentford.
Mrs. Ford.
I'll first direct my men, what they
shall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen for
him straight.
[Exit.
Mrs. Page.
Hang him, dishonest varlet! we
cannot misuse him enough1 note.
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 jest and laugh;
'Tis old but true, Still swine eat all the draff2 note.
[Exit.
Re-enter Mrs. Ford, with two Servants.
Mrs. Ford.
Go, sirs, take the basket again on
your shoulders; your master is hard at door; if he
bid you set it down, obey him: quickly, despatch.
[Exit.
1 Serv.
Come, come, take it up.
2 Serv.
Pray heaven, it be not full of knight3 note
again.
-- 153 --
1 Serv.
I hope not; I had as lief bear so much
lead.
Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans.
Ford.
Ay, but if it prove true, master Page,
have you any way then to unfool me again?—Set
down the basket, villain:—Somebody call my wife:
—You, youth in a basket, come out here4 note!—O,
you panderly rascals! there's a knot, a ging5 note
, a
pack, a conspiracy against me: Now shall the devil
be shamed. What! wife, I say! come, come
forth; behold what honest clothes you send forth to
bleaching.
Page.
Why, this passes6 note
! Master Ford, you are
not to go loose any longer; you must be pinioned.
-- 154 --
Eva.
Why, this is lunatics! this is mad as a mad
dog!
Shal.
Indeed, master Ford, this is not well;
indeed.
Enter Mrs. Ford.
Ford.
So say I too, sir.—Come hither, mistress
Ford; mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest
wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous
fool to her husband!—I suspect without cause,
mistress, do I?
Mrs. Ford.
Heaven be my witness, you do, if
you suspect me in any dishonesty.
Ford.
Well said, brazen-face; hold it out.—
Come forth, sirrah.
[Pulls the Clothes out of the Basket.
Page.
This passes!
Mrs. Ford.
Are you not ashamed? let the clothes
alone.
Ford.
I shall find you anon.
Eva.
'Tis unreasonable! Will you take up your
wife's clothes? Come away.
Ford.
Empty the basket, I say.
Mrs. Ford.
Why, man, why,—
Ford.
Master Page, as I am a man, there was
one conveyed out of my house yesterday in this
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 flea's death.
Page.
Here's no man.
Shal.
By my fidelity, this is not well, master
Ford; this wrongs you7 note
.
-- 155 --
Eva.
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 no where else, but in your brain.
Ford.
Help to search my house this one time:
if I 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 leman8 note. Satisfy me
once more; once more search with me.
Mrs. Ford.
What hoa, 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 charms9 note
, by spells,
-- 156 --
by the figure, and such daubery1 note
as this is; beyond
our element: we know nothing.—Come down,
you witch, you hag you; come down I say.
Mrs. Ford.
Nay, good, sweet husband;—good
gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman2 note.
Enter Falstaff in Women's Clothes, led by 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 rag3 note, you baggage, you
polecat, you ronyon4 note
! out! out! I'll conjure you,
I'll fortune-tell you.
[Exit Falstaff.
-- 157 --
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 for you.
Ford.
Hang her, witch!
Eva.
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 her muffler5 note
.
Ford.
Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech
you, follow; see but the issue of my jealousy: if I
cry out thus upon no trail6 note
, never trust me when I
open again.
Page.
Let's obey his humour a little further:
Come, gentlemen.
[Exeunt Page, Ford, Shallow, and Evans.
-- 158 --
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.
Mrs. Ford.
What think you? May we, with
the warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a
good conscience, pursue him with any further revenge?
Mrs. Page.
The spirit of wantonness is, sure,
scared out of him; if the devil have him not in fee
simple, with fine and recovery7 note, he will never, I
think, in the way of waste, attempt us again8 note.
Mrs. Ford.
Shall we tell our husbands how we
have served him?
Mrs. Page.
Yes, by all means; if it be but to
scrape the figures out of your husband's brains. If
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 publickly
shamed: and, methinks, there would be no
period9 note
to the jest, should he not be publickly
shamed.
-- 159 --
Mrs. Page.
Come, to the forge with it then,
shape it: I would not have things cool.
[Exeunt.
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
