Mrs. Page.

Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you were wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. Whether had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your master's heels?

Rob.

I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man, than follow him like a dwarf.

Mrs. Page.

O, you are a flattering boy; now, I see, you'll be a Courtier.

Ford.

Well met, mistress Page; whither go you?

Mrs. Page.

Truly, Sir, to see your wife; is she at home?

Ford.

Ay; and as idle as she may hang together,

for want of company; I think, if your husbands were dead, you two would marry.

Mrs. Page.

Be sure of that, two other husbands.

Ford.

Where had you this pretty weather-cock?

Mrs. Page.

I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my husband had him of: what do you call your Knight's name, sirrah?

Rob.

Sir John Falstaff.

Ford.

Sir John Falstaff?

Mrs. Page.

He, he; I can never hit on's name; there is such a league between my good man and he.— Is your wife at home, indeed?

Ford.

Indeed, she is.

Mrs. Page.

By your leave, Sir.—I am sick, 'till I see her.