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Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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SCENE VIII. Enter Falstaff.

Fal.

I caught thee, my heav'nly jewel? why, now let me die; for I have liv'd long enough: this is the period of my ambition: O this blessed hour!

Mrs. Ford.

O sweet Sir John!

Fal.

Mistress Ford, I cannot cog; I cannot prate, mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish; I would, thy husband were dead; I'll speak it before the best lord, I would make thee my lady.

Mrs. Ford.

I your lady, Sir John? alas, I should be a pitiful lady.

Fal.

Let the Court of France shew me such another; I see how thine eye would emulate the diamond: thou hast the right arched bent of the brow, that becomes the ship tire, the tire-valiant,8 note











or any Venetian attire.

-- 508 --

Mrs. Ford.

A plain kerchief, Sir John: my brows become nothing else, nor that well neither.

Fal.

Thou art a tyrant to say so; thou would'st make an absolute Courtier; and the firm fixure of thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gate, in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert; if fortune thy foe were not, nature is thy friend: come, thou canst not hide it.

Mrs. Ford.

Believe me, there's no such thing in me.

Fal.

What made me love thee? let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. Come, I cannot cog, and say, thou art this and that, like a-many of these lisping haw-thorn buds, that come like women in men's apparel, and smell like Bucklers-Bury

-- 509 --

in simpling time; I cannot: but I love thee, none but thee; and thou deservest it.

Mrs. Ford.

Do not betray me, Sir; I fear, you love mistress Page.

Fal.

Thou might'st as well say, I love to walk by the Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek of a lime-kiln.

Mrs. Ford.

Well, heav'n knows how I love you, and you shall one day find it.

Fal.

Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it.

Mrs. Ford.

Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could not be in that mind.

Rob. [within.]

Mistress Ford, mistress Ford, here's mistress Page at the door, sweating, and blowing, and looking wildly, and would needs speak with you presently.

Fal.

She shall not see me; I will ensconce me behind the arras.

Mrs. Ford.

Pray you, do so; she's a very tattling woman.

[Falstaff hides himself.
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Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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