What's the matter? how now?

Mrs. Page.

O mistress Ford, what have you done? you're sham'd, y'are overthrown, you are undone for ever.

Mrs. Ford.

What's the matter, good mistress Page?

Mrs. Page.

O well-a-day, mistress Ford, having an honest man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion!

Mrs. Ford.

What cause of suspicion?

Mrs. Page.

What cause of suspicion?—out upon you!—how am I mistook in you?

Mrs. Ford.

Why, alas! what's the matter?

Mrs. Page.

Your husband's coming hither, woman,

with all the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman, that, he says, is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence. You are undone.

Mrs. Ford.

Speak louder—[Aside.] 'Tis not so, I hope.

Mrs. Page.

Pray heav'n it be not so, that you have such a man here; but 'tis most certain, your husband's coming with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one. I come before to tell you: if you know yourself clear, why, I am glad of it; but if you have a friend here, convey, convey him out. Be not amaz'd, call all your Senses to you, defend your reputation, or bid farewel to your good life for ever.

Mrs. Ford.

What shall I do? there is a gentleman, my dear friend; and I fear not mine own shame, so much as his peril. I had rather than a thousand pound, he were out of the house.

Mrs. Page.

For shame, never stand you had rather, and you had rather; your husband's here at hand; bethink you of some conveyance, in the house you cannot hide him. Oh, how have you deceiv'd me? look, here is a basket, if he be of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here, and throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking: or it is whiting time, send him by your two men to Datchet-mead.

Mrs. Ford.

He's too big to go in there: what shall I do?

Fal.

Let me see't, let me see't, O let me see't. I'll in, I'll in.—Follow your friend's counsel.—I'll in.

Mrs. Page.

What! Sir John Falstaff? are these your letters, Knight?

Fal.

I love thee—Help me away; let me creep in here; I'll never—

Mrs. Page.

Help to cover your master, boy;—call your men, mistress Ford.—You dissembling Knight!

Mrs. Ford.

What, John, Robert, John, go take up these clothes here, quickly. Where's the cowl-staff? Look, how you drumble: carry them to the landress in Datchet-mead; quickly, come.