Ford.

What a damn'd Epicurean Rascal is this! my heart is ready to crack with Impatience: Who says this is Improvident Jealousie? My Wife has sent to him, the Hour is fixt, the match is made, would any man have thought this? See the Hell of having a false Woman: My Bed shall be abus'd, my Coffers ransack'd, my Reputation gnawn at, and I shall not only receive this Villanous wrong, but stand under the adoption of abominable names. Terms, names, Belzebuh sounds well! Lucifer well! Belial well! yet they are Devils Titles, the names of Fiends. But Cuckold, Wittal, Cuckold! The Devil himself has not such a name. Page is an Ass, a secure Ass, he will trust his Wife, he'll not be jealous, I will rather trust a Dutch man with my Trade, a Frenchman with my Lands and Tenements, an Irishman with my Secret, or a Spaniard with making my Last Will and Testament, than my Wife with herself. Then she Plots, then she Ruminates, then she Devises; and when she is going, she has a Proverb on her side. Heaven be prais'd for my Jealousie. Five o'th' clock is the Hour. I will prevent this, detect my Wife, be reveng'd on Falstaffe, and laugh at Page, fie, fie, fie, Cuckold, Cuckold, Cuckold.

Evans.

I pray you now, good Master Slender's serving man, and Friend Simple by your name, which way have you look'd for Master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of Physick.

Simple.

Marry Sir, the pity wary, the Parkward, old Windsor way, and ev'ry way but the Town way.

Evans.

I most vehemently desire you, you will also look that way.

Simple.

I will, Sir.

Evans.

Pless my Soul, how full of Cholars I am and Trempling of mind, I shall be glad if he have deceiv'd me: How melancholick I am? I will break his Urinal about his Knaves Costard, when I have good opportunities for the orke. (sings.) Pless my Soul, to shallow Rivers to whose falls, melodious Birds sing Madrigals. There will we make our Beds of Roses, and a thousand fragant Posies. (To Shallow) Mercy on me, I have a great disposition to cry: When as I sat in Babylon, and a thousand fragant Posies.

Simple.

Yonder he is coming this way, Sir Hugh.

Evans.

He welcome, Shallow Rivers to whose falls. Heav'n prosper the right, what Weapons is he?

Simple.

No Weapons, Sir, there comes my Master, and Mr Shallow and another Gentleman from Frogmore, over the Style this way.

Evans.

Pray you give me my Gown, or else keep it in your Arms.

Shall.

How now, Master Parson? Good morrow, good Sir Hugh; keep a Gamester from the Dice, and a good Student from his Book, and it is wonderful.

Slend.

Ah sweet Ann Page.

Page.

Save you, good Sir Hugh.

Evans.

Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you.

Shall.

What? the Sword and the Word? Do you study them both, Mr Parson?

Page.

And youthful still, in your Doublet and Hose, this raw Rheumatick Day?

Evans.

There is reasons and causes for it.

Page.

We are come to you, to do a good office, Mr Parson.

Evans.

Fary well, what is it?

Page.

Yonder is a most Reverend Gentleman, who (belike) having received wrong by some Person, is at most ods with his own gravity and patience that ever you saw,

Shall.

I have lived fourscore years and upward, yet I never heard a man of his Place Gravity and Learning, so wide of his own respect.

Evans.

What is he?

Page.

I think you know him, Mr Doctor Caius, the renown'd French Physician.

Evans.

Gods will, and his Passion of my Heart, I had as lief you would tell me of of Mess of Porrage.

Page.

Why?

Evans.

He, has we more knowledge in Hebocrates and Galen, and he is a Knave besides; a Cowardly Knave, as you would desire to be acquainted withal.

Page.

I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him.

Slend.

O sweet Ann Page.

Shall.

It appears so by his Weapons, keep them asunder, here comes Doctor Caius.

Page.

Nay, good Mr Parson, keep in your Weapon.

Shall.

So do you, good Mr Doctor.

Host.

Disarm them, and let them question, let them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English.

Caius.

I pray you, let me speak a word with your Ear, wherefore will you not meet a me?

Evans.

Pray you use your Patience, in a good time.

Caius.

Begar, you are de Coward, de Jack Dog, John Ape.

Evans.

Pray you let's not be laughing-stocks to other Mens Humours, I desire you in Friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends: I will knock your Urinal about your Knaves Coxcomb.

Caius.

Diable Jack Rugby, mine Host de Jarteer, have I not stay for him, to kill him? Have I not been at de place I did apoint.

Evans.

As I am a Christian Soul, now look you, this is the place appointed. I'll be Judgment by mine Host of the Garter.

Host.

Peace I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh, Soul Curer, and Body Curer.

Caius.

I dat is very good, excellaunt.

Host.

Peace I say: Hear mine Host of the Garter. Am I a Politick? Am I Subtile? Am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my Doctor? No, he gives me the Potions and the Motions. Shall I lose my Parson? My Priest, my Sir Hugh? No, he gives me the

Proverbs and the Noverbs. Give me thy hand Celestial; so Boys of Art I have deceived you both: I have directed you both to the wrong places: Your Hearts arc mighty, your Skins are whole, and let burnt Sack be the Issue: Come, lay their Swords to pawn, follow me Lads of Peace, follow, follow, follow.

Shall.

Trust me, a mad Host, follow Gentlemen, follow.

Slend.

O sweet Ann Page!

Shall.

Well remembred, Cousin Slender. Master Page, a word with you.

Page.

Your will, Mr Justice.

Shall.

We have spoke to you about a match, between your Daughter and my Cousin Slender here, and anon we expect your answer.

Page.

Let us go talk of it over a Pint, there is very good Sherry at the Bull.

Shall.

My Cousin and I are engaged to meet some Tenants, but at seven let us meet and Sup there, and pray let your fair Daughter be there.

Page.

She shall.