Pistol.
Fal.
I will not lend thee a Penny.
Pist.
Why then the World's mine Oyster, which I with
Sword will open.
Fal.
Not a Penny. I have been content, Sir, you should
lay my Countenance to Pawn; I have grated upon my good
Friends for three Reprieves for you, and your Coach-fellow,
Nim; or else you had look'd through the Grate, like
a Geminy of Baboons. I am damn'd in Hell for swearing
to Gentlemen, my Friends, you were good Soldiers, and
tall Fellows. And when Mistress Briget lost the Handle of
her Fan, I took't upon mine Honour thou hadst it not.
Pist.
Didst thou not share? Hadst thou not fifteen
Pence?
Fal.
Reason, you Rogue, Reason: Think'st thou I'll
endanger my Soul gratis? At a Word; hang no more about
me, I am no Gibbet for you: Go, a short Knife, and a
Throng, to your Manor of Pickt-hatcht; go, you'll not bear
a Letter for me, you Rogue; you stand upon your Honour.
Why, thou unconfinable Baseness, it is as much as
I can do to keep the Term of my Honour precise. I, I,
I my self sometimes, leaving the Fear of Heaven on the left
Hand, and hiding mine Honour in my Necessity, am fain
to shuffle, to hedge, and to lurch; and yet, you Rogue
will ensconse your Rags, your Cat-a-Mountain Looks, your
Red-Lattice Phrases, and your bold-beating Oaths, under
the Shelter of your Honour! You will not do it, you!
Pist.
I do relent; what would thou more of Man?
Enter Robin.
Rob.
Sir, here's a Woman would speak with you.
Fal.
Let her approach.
Enter Mistress Quickly.
Quic.
Give your Worship Good-morrow.
Fal.
Good-morrow, good Wife.
Quic.
Not so, and't please your Worship.
Fal.
Good Maid then.
Quic.
I'll be sworn,
As my Mother was the first Hour I was born.
-- 146 --
Fal.
I do believe the Swearer: What with me?
Quic.
Shall I vouchsafe your Worship a Word or two?
Fal.
Two thousand, fair Woman, and I'll vouchsafe thee
the hearing.
Quic.
There is one Mistress Ford, Sir: I pray come a
little nearer this ways: I my self dwell with Mr. Doctor
Caius.
Fal.
Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say.
Quic.
Your Worship says very true: I pray your Worship
come a little nearer this ways.
Fal.
I warrant thee no body hears; mine own People,
mine own People.
Quic.
Are they so? Heav'n bless them, and make them
his Servants.
Fal.
Well: Mistress Ford, what of her?
Quic.
Why, Sir, she's a good Creature. Lord, Lord,
your Worship's a Wanton; well, Heav'n forgive you, and
all of us, I pray—
Fal.
Mistress Ford, come, Mistress Ford.
Quic.
Marry, this is the short and the long of it; you
have brought her into such a Canaries as 'tis wonderful:
The best Courtier of them all, when the Court lay at Windsor,
could never have brought her to such a Canary. Yet
there has been Knights, and Lords, and Gentlemen, with
their Coaches; I warrant you Coach after Coach, Letter
after Letter, Gift after Gift, smelling so sweetly; all Musk,
and so rushling, I warrant you, in Silk and Gold, and in
such alligant Terms, and in such Wine and Sugar of the best,
and the fairest, that would have won any Woman's Heart;
and I warrant you they could never get an Eye-wink of her.
I had my self twenty Angels given me this Morning; but I
defie all Angels, in any such sort as they say, but in the
way of Honesty; and I warrant you they could never get
her so much as sip on a Cup with the proudest of them all;
and yet there has been Earls, nay, which is more, Pensioners,
but I warrant you all is one with her.
Fal.
But what says she to me? Be brief, my good she-Mercury.
Quic.
Marry, she hath receiv'd your Letter, for the
which she thanks you a thousand times; and she gives you
to notifie, that her Husband will be absence from his House
between ten and eleven.
-- 147 --
Fal.
Ten and eleven.
Quic.
Ay, Forsooth; and then you may come and see the
Picture, she says, that you wot of: Master Ford, her Husband,
will be from home. Alas! the sweet Woman leads
an ill Life with him, he's a very jealousie-Man; she leads
a very frampold Life with him, good Heart.
Fal.
Ten and eleven:
Woman, commend me to her, I will not fail her.
Quic.
Why, you say well: But I have another Messenger
to your Worship; Mistress Page has her hearty Commendations
to you too; and let me tell you in your Ear, she's
as fartuous a civil modest Wife, and one (I tell you) that
will not miss you Morning and Evening Prayer, as any is in
Windsor, who-e'er be the other; and she bad me tell your
Worship that her Husband is seldom from home, but she
hopes there will come a time. I never knew a Woman so
doat upon a Man; surely I think you have Charms, la; yes
in Truth.
Fal.
Not I, I assure thee; setting the Attraction of my
good Parts aside, I have no other Charms.
Quic.
Blessing on your Heart for't.
Fal.
But I pray thee tell me this; has Ford's Wife and
Page's Wife acquainted each other how they love me?
Quic.
That were a Jest indeed; they have not so little
Grace, I hope; that were a Trick indeed! But Mistress Page
would desire you to send her your little Page, of all Love:
Her Husband has a marvellous Infection to the little Page;
and truly Master Page is an honest Man. Never a Wife in
Windsor leads a better Life than she does; do what she will,
say what she will, take all, pay all, go to Bed when she list,
rise when she list, all is as she will; and truly she deserves
it, for if there be a kind Woman in Windsor truly she is one.
You must send her your Page; no Remedy.
Fal.
Why, I will.
Quic.
Nay, but do so then; and, look you, he may come
and go between you both; and, in any case, have a Nay-word,
that you may know one anothers Mind, and the Boy
never need to understand any thing; for 'tis not good that
Children should know any Wickedness: Old Folks, you
know, have Discretion, as they say, and know the World.
-- 148 --
Fal.
Fare thee well; commend me to them both: There's
my Purse, I am yet thy Debtor. Boy, go along with this
Woman. This News distracts me.
[Exit Quic. and Robin.
Pist.
This Punk is one of Cupid's Carriers:
Clap on more Sails; pursue; up with your Fights;
Give Fire; she is my Prize, or Ocean whelm them all.
[Exit Pistol.
Fal.
Say'st thou so, old Jack? go thy ways; I'll make
more of thy old Body than I have done; will they yet
look after thee? Wilt thou, after the Expence of so much
Mony, be now a Gainer? Good body, I thank thee; let
them say, 'tis grosly done, so it be fairly done, no matter.
Enter Bardolph.
Bard.
Sir John, there's one Master Broom below would
fain speak with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath
sent your Worship a Morning's Draught of Sack.
Fal.
Broom, is his Name?
Bard.
Ay Sir.
Fal.
Call him in; such Brooms are welcome to me that
o'erflows such Liquor. Ah! ah! Mistress Ford and Mistress
Page, have I encompass'd you? Go to, via.
Enter Ford disguis'd.
Ford.
Bless you, Sir.
Fal.
And you, Sir; would you speak with me?
Ford.
I make bold to press with so little Preparation upon
you.
Fal.
You're welcome; what's your Will? Give us leave,
Drawer.
Ford.
Sir, I am a Gentleman that have spent much; my
Name is Broom.
Fal.
Good Master Broom, I desire more Acquaintance of
you.
Ford.
Good Sir John, I sue for yours; not to charge you;
for I must let you understand, I think my self in better
Plight for a Lender than you are, the which hath something
embolden'd me to this unseason'd Intrusion; for they
say, if Mony go before, all Ways do lye open.
Fal.
Mony is a good Soldier, Sir, and will on.
Ford.
Troth, and I have a Bag of Mony here troubles
me; if you will help to bear it, Sir John, take all, or half,
for easing me of the Carriage.
-- 149 --
Fal.
Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your
Porter.
Ford.
I will tell you, Sir, if you will give me the hearing.
Fal.
Speak, good Master Broom, I shall be glad to be
your Servant.
Ford.
Sir, I hear you are a Scholar, I will be brief with
you, and you have been a Man long known to me, tho' I
had never so good Means as Desire to make my self acquainted
with you: I shall discover a thing to you, wherein I
must very much lay open mine own Imperfection; but,
good Sir John, as you have one Eye upon my Follies, as
you hear them unfolded, turn another into the Register of
your own, that I may pass with a Reproof the easier, sith
you your self know how easie it is to be such an Offender.
Fal.
Very well, Sir, proceed.
Ford.
There is a Gentlewoman in this Town, her Husband's
Name is Ford.
Fal.
Well, Sir,
Ford.
I have long lov'd her, and, I protest to you, bestow'd
much on her, follow'd her with a doating Observance,
ingross'd Opportunities to meet her, fee'd every
slight Occasion that could but niggardly give me sight of
her; not only bought many Presents to give her, but have
given largely to many, to know what she would have given:
Briefly, I have pursu'd her, as Love hath pursu'd me,
which hath been on the Wing of all Occasions. But whatsoever
I have merited, either in my Mind, or in my Means,
Meed I am sure I have received none, unless Experience
be a Jewel I have purchas'd at an infinite rate, and that
hath taught me to say this.
“Love like a Shadow flies, when Substance Love pursues;
“Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.
Fal.
Have you receiv'd no Promise of Satisfaction at her
Hands?
Ford.
Never.
Fal.
Have you importun'd her to such a Purpose?
Ford.
Never.
Fal.
Of what Quality was your Love then?
-- 150 --
Ford.
Like a fair House built on another Man's Ground,
so that I have lost my Edifice, by mistaking the Place
where I erected it.
Fal.
To what purpose have you unfolded this to me?
Ford.
When I have told you that, I have told you all.
Some say, that tho' she appear honest to me, yet in other
Places she enlargeth her Mirth so far, that there is shrewd
Construction made of her. Now, Sir John, here is the
Heart of my Purpose: You are a Gentleman of excellent
Breeding, admirable Discourse, of great Admittance, authentick
in your Place and Person, generally allow'd for
your many War-like, Court-like, and learned Preparations.
Fal.
O Sir!
Ford.
Believe it, for you know it; there is Mony, spend
it, spend it, spend more, spend all I have, only give me so
much of your time in exchange of it, as to lay an amiable
Siege to the Honesty of this Ford's Wife; use your Art of
Wooing, win her to consent to you; if any Man may, you
may as soon as any.
Fal.
Would it apply well to the Vehemence of your Affection,
that I should win what you would enjoy? Methinks
you prescribe to your self very preposterously.
Ford.
O, understand my drift; she dwells so securely on
the Excellency of her Honour, that the Folly of my Soul
dares not present it self; she is too bright to be look'd against.
Now could I come to her with any Detection in
my Hand, my Desires had Instance and Argument to commend
themselves; I could drive her then from the Ward
of her Purity, her Reputation, her Marriage-Vow, and a
thousand other her Defences, which now are too strongly
embattail'd against me. What say you to't, Sir John?
Fal.
Master Broom, I will first make bold with your Mony;
next, give me your Hand; and last, as I am a Gentleman,
you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's Wife.
Ford.
O good Sir!
Fal.
I say, you shall.
Ford.
Want no Mony, Sir John, you shall want none.
Fal.
Want no Mistress Ford, Master Broom, you shall
want none; I shall be with her, I may tell you, by her own
Appointment. Even as you came in to me, her Assistant, or
-- 151 --
Go-between, parted from me: I say, I shall be with her between
ten and eleven; for at that time the jealous rascally
Knave, her Husband, will be forth; come you to me at
Night, you shall know how I speed.
Ford.
I am blest in your Acquaintance: Do you know
Ford, Sir?
Fal.
Hang him, poor cuckoldy Knave, I know him not:
Yet I wrong him, to call him poor; they say, the jealous
wittolly Knave hath masses of Mony, for the which his
Wife seems to me well-favour'd. I will use her as the Key
of the Cuckold-Rogue's Coffer; and there's my Harvest-home.
Ford.
I would you knew Ford, Sir, that you might avoid
him, if you saw him.
Fal.
Hang him, mechanical-salt-butter Rogue; I will
stare him out of his Wits; I will awe him with my Cudgel;
it shall hang like a Meteor o'er the Cuckold's Horns.
Master Broom, thou shalt know I will predominate over
the Pesant, and thou shalt lye with his Wife: Come to me
soon at Night; Ford's a Knave, and I will aggravate his Stile:
Thou, Master Broom, shalt know him for Knave and Cuckold;
come to me soon at Night.
[Exit.
Ford.
What a damn'd Epicurean Rascal is this? My
Heart is ready to crack with Impatience. Who says this is
improvident Jealousie? My Wife hath sent to him, the Hour
is fixt, the Match is made: Would any Man have thought
this? See the Hell of having a false Woman; my Bed shall be
abus'd, my Coffers ransack'd, my Reputation gnawn at,
and I shall not only receive this villainous Wrong, but stand
under the adoption of abominable Terms, and by him that
does me this Wrong. Terms, Names; Amaimon sounds well,
Lucifer well, Barbason well, yet they are Devils additions, the
Names of Fiends; but Cuckold, Wittol-Cuckold! the Devil
himself hath not such a Name. Page is an Ass, a secure Ass,
he will trust his Wife; he will not be jealous: I will rather
trust a Fleming with my Butter, Parson Hugh, the Welchman,
with my Cheese, an Irish-man with my Aqua-vitæ Bottle,
or a Thief to walk my ambling Gelding, than my Wife
with her self: Then she plots, then she ruminates, then she
devises; and what they think in their Hearts they may effect,
they will break their Hearts but they will effect. Heaven
-- 152 --
be prais'd for my Jealousie. Eleven o'Clock the Hour;
I will prevent this, detect my Wife, be reveng'd on Falstaff,
and laugh at Page: I will about it; better three Hours
too soon than a Minute too late. Fie, fie, fie; Cuckold, Cuckold,
Cuckold.
[Exit.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
