Ford.
Fal.
Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten
up my sufferance; I see you are obsequious
in your love, and I profess requital to a hair's
breadth; not only, mistress Ford, in the simple office
of love, but in all the accoustrement, complement,
and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your husband
now?
Mrs. Ford.
He's a birding, sweet Sir John.
Mrs. Page. [within.]
What hoa, gossip Ford! what
hoa!
-- 283 --
Mrs. Ford.
Step into th' chamber, Sir John.
[Exit Falstaff.
Enter Mistress Page.
Mrs. Page.
How now, sweet heart, who's at home
besides your self?
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 no body
here.
Mrs. Ford.
Why?
Mrs. Page.
Why, woman, your husband is in his
old lunes again; he so takes on 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 fore-head, crying, peer-out, peer-out!
that any madness I ever yet beheld seem'd but
tameness, civility, and patience, to this 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
carry'd out, the last time he search'd 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's end, he will be here
anon.
Mrs. Ford.
I am undone, the Knight is hero.
Mrs. Page.
Why, then thou art utterly sham'd, and
he's but a dead man. What a woman are you? away
with him, away with him; better, shame than murther.
Mrs. Ford.
Which way should he go? how should
I bestow him? shall I put him into the basket again?
-- 284 --
Enter Falstaff.
Fal.
No, I'll come no more i'th' basket: may I
not go out, ere he come?
Mrs. Page.
Alas! alas! three of master Ford's brothers
watch the door with pistols, that none should
issue out, otherwise you might slip away ere he came:
but what make you here?
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 kill-hole.
Fal.
Where is it?
Mrs. Ford.
He will seek there, on my word: neither
press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he
hath an abstract 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. Ford.
If you go out in your own semblance,
you die, Sir John, unless you go out disguis'd. 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.
Fal.
Good heart, devise something; 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 serve him; she's
as big as he is, and there's her thrumb hat, and her
muffler too. Run up, Sir John.
Mrs. Ford.
Go, go, sweet Sir John; mistress Page
and I will look some linnen for your head.
Mrs. Page.
Quick, quick, we'll come dress you
straight; put on the gown the while.
[Ex. Falstaff.
Mrs. Ford.
I would, my husband would meet him
in this shape; he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford;
he swears, she's a witch, forbad her my house,
and hath threatned to beat her.
-- 285 --
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 sadness 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 dress him like the witch of Brainford.
Mrs. Ford.
I'll first direct my men, what they shall
do with the basket; go up, I'll bring linnen for him
straight.
Mrs. Page.
Hang him, dishonest varlet, we cannot
misuse 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 jest and laugh:
'Tis old but true, Still swine eats all the draugh.
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, dispatch.
[Exeunt Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford.
Enter Servants with the basket.
1 Serv.
Come, come, take up.
2 Serv.
Pray heav'n, it be not full of the Knight
again.
1 Serv.
I hope not. I had as lief bear so much lead.
Enter Ford, Shallow, Page, Caius and 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: youth in a
basket! oh you panderly rascals, there's a knot, a
gang, a pack, a conspiracy, against me: now shall the
devil be sham'd. What! wife, I say; come, come
forth, behold what honest cloaths you send forth to
bleaching.
-- 286 --
Page.
Why, this passes, master Ford,—you are
not 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 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.
Heav'n 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 cloaths out of the basket.
Page.
This passes,—
Mrs. Ford.
Are you not asham'd, let the cloaths
alone.
Ford.
I shall find you anon.
Eva.
'Tis unreasonable; will you take up your wife's
cloaths? come away.
Ford.
Empty the basket, I say.
Mrs. Ford.
Why, man, why?
Ford.
Master Page, as I am a man, there was one
convey'd 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 jealousie 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, master Ford;
this wrongs you.
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, shew 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
-- 287 --
wall-nut for his wife's leman. Satisfie 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 Brainford.
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 charms, by spells, by th' figure; and
such dawbry 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 woman.
Enter Falstaff in womens cloaths, 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 asham'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 beseech you,
follow; see but the issue of my jealousie; (21) note
if I cry
-- 288 --
out thus upon no trail, never trust me when I open again.
Page.
Let's obey his humour a little further: come,
gentlemen.
[Exeunt.
Mrs. Page.
Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.
Mrs. Ford.
Nay, by th' mass, 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 service.
Mrs. Ford.
What think you? may we, with the
warrant of woman-hood, and the witness of a good
conscience, pursue him with any further revenge?
Mrs. Page.
The spirit of wantonness is, sure, scar'd
out of him; if the devil have him not in fee-simple,
with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the
way of waste, attempt us again.
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 brain. 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
sham'd; and, methinks, there would be no period to
the jest, should he not be publickly sham'd.
Mrs. Page.
Come to the forge with it, then shape
it: I would not have things cool.
[Exeunt.
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].
