Page's house.
Enter Mrs. Page, with a letter.
Mrs. Page.
What, have I 'scap'd love-letters in the
holy-day-time of my beauty, and am I now
a subject for them? let me see:
Ask me no reason, why I love you; for tho' love use reason
for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor:
you are not young, no more am I; go to then, there's sympathy:
you are merry, so am I; ha! ha! then there's
more sympathy; you love sack, and so do I; would you desire
better sympathy? let is suffice thee, mistress Page, at
the least if the love of a soldier can suffice, that I love
thee. I will not say, pity me, 'tis not a soldier-like phrase;
but I say, love me:
By me, thine own true Knight, by day or night,
Or any kind of light, with all his might,
For thee to fight.
John Falstaff.
What a Herod of Jury is this? O wicked, wicked
world! one that is well nigh worn to pieces with age,
to show himself a young gallant! what unweigh'd behaviour
-- 243 --
hath this Flemish drunkard pickt, i'th' devil's
name, out of my conversation, that he dares in this
manner assay me? why, he hath not been thrice in my
company: what should I say to him? I was then frugal
of my mirth, heav'n forgive me: why, I'll exhibit
(11) notea Bill in the Parliament for the putting down of
fat men: how shall I be reveng'd on him? for reveng'd
I will be, as sure as his guts are made of puddings.
Enter Mrs. Ford.
Mrs. Ford.
Mistress Page, trust me, I was going to
your house.
Mrs. Page.
And trust me, I was coming to you;
you look very ill.
Mrs. Ford.
Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to
shew to the contrary.
Mrs. Page.
'Faith, but you do, in my mind.
Mrs. Ford.
Well, I do then; yet I say, I could shew
you to the contrary: O mistress Page, give me some
counsel.
Mrs. Page.
What's the matter, woman?
Mrs. Ford.
O woman! if it were not for one trifling
respect, I could come to such honour.
Mrs. Page.
Hang the trifle, woman, take the honour;
what is it? dispense with trifles; what is it?
Mrs. Ford.
If I would but go to hell for an eternal
moment, or so, I could be knighted.
Mrs. Page.
What, thou liest! Sir Alice Ford! these
Knights will hack, and so thou shouldst not alter the
article of thy gentry.
-- 244 --
Mrs. Ford.
We burn day-light; here, read, read;
perceive, how I might be knighted: I shall think the
worse of fat men, as long as I have an eye to make
difference of men's liking; and yet he would not
swear; prais'd women's modesty; and gave such orderly
and well-behaved reproof to all uncomeliness,
that I would have sworn his disposition would have
gone to the truth of his words; but they do no more
adhere, and keep place together, than the hundredth
Psalm to the tune of Green Sleeves. What tempest, I
trow, threw this whale, with so many tun of oyl in
his belly, a'shore at Windsor? how shall I be reveng'd
on him? I think, the best way were to entertain him
with hope, 'till the wicked fire of lust have melted
him in his own grease. Did you ever hear the like?
Mrs. Page.
Letter for letter, but that the name of
Page and Ford differs. To thy great comfort in this
mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin-brother of thy
letter; but let thine inherit first, for, I protest, mine
never shall. I warrant, he hath a thousand of these
letters, writ with blank-space for different names; nay,
more; and these are of the second edition: he will
print them out of doubt, for he cares not what he
puts into the press, when he would put us two. I had
rather be a giantess, and lye under mount Pelion. Well,
I will find you twenty lascivious turtles, ere one chaste
man.
Mrs. Ford.
Why, this is the very same, the very hand,
the very words; what doth he think of us?
Mrs. Page.
Nay, I know not; it makes me almost
ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll entertain
my self like one that I am not acquainted withal;
for, sure, unless he knew some Strain in me, that I
know not my self, he would never have boarded me in
this fury.
Mrs. Ford.
Boarding, call it you? I'll be sure to keep
him above deck.
Mrs. Page.
So will I; if he come under my hatches,
I'll never to sea again. Let's be reveng'd on him;
let's appoint him a meeting, give him a show of comfort
-- 245 --
in his suit, and lead him on with a fine baited
delay, 'till he hath pawn'd his horses to mine Host of
the Garter.
Mrs. Ford.
Nay, I will consent to act any villany
against him, that may not sully the chariness of our
honesty: oh, that my husband saw this letter! it would
give eternal food to his jealousie.
Mrs. Page.
Why, look, where he comes, and my
good man too; he's as far from jealousie, as I am from
giving him cause; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable
distance.
Mrs. Ford.
You are the happier woman.
Mrs. Page.
Let's consult together against this greasie
Knight. Come hither.
[They retire.
Enter Ford with Pistol, Page with Nym.
Ford.
Well, I hope, it be not so.
Pist.
Hope is a curtal-dog in some affairs.
Sir John affects thy wife.
Ford.
Why, Sir, my wife is not young.
Pist.
He wooes both high and low, both rich and poor,
Both young and old, one with another, Ford;
He loves thy gally-mawfry, Ford, perpend.
Ford.
Love my wife?
Pist.
With liver burning hot: prevent, or go thou,
like Sir Acteon, he, with Ring-wood at thy heels—O,
odious is the name.
Ford.
What name, Sir?
Pist.
The horn, I say: farewel.
Take heed, have open eye; for thieves do foot by night.
Take heed ere summer comes, or cuckoo-birds affright.
Away, Sir corporal Nym.—
Believe it, Page, he speaks sense.
[Exit Pistol.
Ford.
I will be patient; I will find out this.
Nym.
And this is true: I like not the humour of
lying; he hath wrong'd me in some humours; I
should have born the humour'd letter to her; but I
have a sword, and it shall bite upon my necessity. He
loves your wife; there's the short and the long. My
-- 246 --
name is Corporal Nym; I speak, and I avouch; 'tis true:
my name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your Wife. Adieu;
I love not the humour of bread and cheese: adieu.
[Exit Nym.
Page.
The humour of it, quoth a'! here's a fellow,
frights humour out of its wits.
Ford.
I will seek out Falstaff.
Page.
I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.
Ford.
If I do find it: well.
Page.
(12) noteI will not believe such a Cataian, tho' the
priest o'th' town commended him for a true man.
Ford.
'Twas a good sensible fellow: well.
Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford come forwards.
Page.
How now, Meg?
Mrs. Page.
Whither go you, George? hark you.
Mrs. Ford.
How now, sweet Frank, why art thou
melancholy?
Ford.
I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you
home, go.
Mrs. Ford.
Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy
head. Now, will you go, mistress Page?
-- 247 --
Mrs. Page.
Have with you. You'll come to dinner,
George? Look, who comes yonder; she shall be our
messenger to this paultry Knight.
Enter Mistress Quickly.
Mrs. Ford.
Trust me, I thought on her, she'll fit it.
Mrs. Page.
You are come to see my daughter Anne?
Quic.
Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good
mistress Anne?
Mrs. Page.
Go in with us, and see; we have an hour's
talk with you.
[Ex. Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Mrs. Quic.
Page.
How now, master Ford?
Ford.
You heard what this knave told me, did you not?
Page.
Yes; and you heard what the other told me?
Ford.
Do you think there is truth in them?
Page.
Hang 'em, slaves; I do not think, the Knight
would offer it; but these, that accuse him in his intent
towards our wives, are a yoak of his discarded men;
very rogues, now they be out of service.
Ford.
Were they his men?
Page.
Marry, were they.
Ford.
I like it never the better for that. Does he
lye at the Garter?
Page.
Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend his
voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loose to
him; and what he gets more of her than sharp words,
let it lye on my head.
Ford.
I do not misdoubt my wife, but I would be
loth to turn them together; a man may be too confident;
I would have nothing lye on my head; I cannot
be thus satisfy'd.
Page.
Look, where my ranting Host of the Garter
comes; there is either liquor in his pate, or mony in
his purse, when he looks so merrily. How now, mine
Host?
-- 248 --
Enter Host and Shallow
Host.
How now, bully Rock? thou'rt a gentleman,
cavalerio-justice, I say.
Shal.
I follow, mine Host, I follow. Good even,
and twenty, good master Page. Master Page, will you
go with us? we have sport in hand.
Host.
Tell him, cavaliero-justice; tell him, bully
Rock.
Shal.
Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir
Hugh the Welch priest, and Caius the French doctor.
Ford.
Good mine Host o'th' Garter, a word with
you.
Host.
What say'st thou, bully Rock?
Shal.
Will you go with us to behold it? my merry
Host hath had the measuring of their weapons, and, I
think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, believe
me, I hear, the parson is no jester. Hark, I will
tell you what our sport shall be.
Host.
Hast thou no suit against my Knight, my guest-cavalier?
Ford.
None, I protest; but I'll give you a pottle of
burnt sack to give me recourse to him, (13) note
and tell
him, my name is Brook; only for a jest.
Host.
My hand, bully: thou shalt have egress and
regress; said I well? and thy name shall be Brook. It
is a merry Knight. (14) note
Will you go an-heirs?
-- 249 --
Shal.
Have with you, mine host.
Page.
I have heard, the Frenchman hath good skill
in his rapier.
Shal.
Tut, Sir, I could have told you more; in these
times you stand on distance, your passes, stoccado's,
and I know not what: 'tis the heart, master Page;
'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the time, with my
long sword, I would have made you four tall fellows
skip like rats.
Host.
Here, boys, here, here: shall we wag?
Pag.
Have with you; I had rather hear them scold
than fight.
[Exeunt Host, Shallow and Page.
Ford.
Tho' Page be a secure fool, (15) noteand stand so
firmly on his wife's frailty7Q0001, yet I cannot put off my opinion
so easily. She was in his company at Page's house;
and what they made there, I know not. Well, I
will look further into't; and I have a disguise to
sound Falstaff: if I find her honest, I lose not my labour;
if she be otherwise, 'tis labour well bestow'd.
[Exit.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
