Fal.

Bardolph, I say.

Bard.

Here, Sir.

Fal.

Go fetch me a Quart of Sack, put a Tost in't. Have I liv'd to be carry'd in a Basket, like a Barrow of Butchers Offal, and to be thrown into the Thames? Well, if I be serv'd such another trick, I'll have my Brains ta'en out and butter'd, and give them to a Dog for a New-years Gift. The Rogues slighted me into the River, with as little Remorse as they would have drown'd a blind Bitch's Puppies, fifteen i'th' litter; and you may know, by my Size, that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking: If the Bottom were as deep as Hell, I should down. I had been drown'd, but that the Shore was shelvy and shallow; a Death that I abhor; for the Water swells a Man: And what a Thing should I have been when I had been swell'd? I should have been a Mountain of Mummy.

Bar.

Here's Mistress Quickly, Sir, to speak with you.

Fal.

Come, let me pour in some Sack to the Thames-Water; for my Belly's as cold as if I had swallow'd Snow-balls for Pills to cool the Reins. Call her in.

Bard.

Come in, Woman.

Quic.
By your Leave: I cry you Mercy.
Give your Worship Good-morrow.

Fal.
Take away these Challices:
Go, brew me a Pottle of Sack finely.

Bard.

With Eggs, Sir?

Fal.

Simple of it self: I'll no Pullet-Sperm in my Brewage. How now?

Quic.

Marry, Sir, I come to your Worship from Mistress Ford.

Fal.

Mistress Ford? I have had Ford enough; I was thrown into the Ford; I have my Belly full of Ford.

Quic.

Alas the Day! good Heart, that was not her Fault: She does so take on with her Men; they mistook their Erection.

Fal.

So did I mine, to build on a foolish Woman's Promise.

Quic.

Well, she laments, Sir, for it, that it would yern your Heart to see it. Her Husband goes this Morning a birding; she desires you once more to come to her, between eight and nine. I must carry her Word quickly, she'll make you amends, I warrant you.

Fal.

Well, I will visit her; tell her so, and bid her think what a Man is: Let her consider his Frailty, and then judge of my Merit.

Quic.

I will tell her.

Fal.

Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou?

Quic.

Eight and nine, Sir.

Fal.

Well, be gone; I will not miss her.

Quic.

Peace be with you, Sir.

Fal.
I marvel I hear not of Master Broom; he sent me
Word to stay within: I like his Mony well.
Oh, here he comes. Enter Ford.

Ford.

Bless you, Sir.

Fal.

Now, Master Broom, you come to know what hath pass'd between me and Ford's Wife.

Ford.

That indeed, Sir John, is my business.

Fal.
Master Broom, I will not lie to you;
I was at her House the Hour she appointed me.

Ford.

And you sped, Sir?

Fal.

Very ill-favour'dly, Master Broom.

Ford.

How Sir, did she change her Determination?

Fal.

No, Mr. Broom; but the peaking Cornuto her Husband, Mr. Broom, dwelling in a continual larum of Jealousie, comes in the instant of our Encounter, after we had embrac'd, kiss'd, protested, and as it were spoke the Prologue of our Comedy; and at his Heels a rabble of his Companions, thither provok'd and instigated by his Distemper, and, forsooth, to search his House for his Wife's Love.

Ford.

What, while you were there?

Fal.

While I was there.

Ford.

And did he search for you, and could not find you?

Fal.

You shall hear. As good Luck would have it, comes in one Mistress Page, gives Intelligence of Ford's Approach, and in her Invention, and Ford's Wife's Distraction, they convey'd me into a Buck-basket.

Ford.

A Buck-basket?

Fal.

Yea, a Buck-basket; ramm'd me in with foul Shirts and Smocks, Socks, foul Stockings, and greasie Napkins, that, Master Broom, there was the rankest Compound of villainous Smell that ever offended Nostril.

Ford.

And how long lay you there?

Fal.

Nay, you shall hear, Master Broom, what I have suffer'd, to bring this Woman to evil, for your good. Being thus cram'd in the Basket, a couple of Ford's Knaves, his Hinds, were call'd forth by their Mistress, to carry me in the name of foul Cloaths to Datchet-lane; they took me on their Shoulders, met the jealous Knave their Master in the Door, who ask'd them once or twice what they had in their Basket; I quak'd for Fear, least the Lunatick Knave would have search'd it; but Fate, ordaining he should be a Cuckold, held his Hand. Well, on went he for a search, and away went I for foul Cloaths; but mark the sequel, Master Broom, I suffered the pangs of three several Deaths: First, an intolerable Fright, to be detected with a jealous rotten Bell-weather; next to be compass'd, like a good Bilbo, in the circumference of a Peck, hilt to point, heel to head; and then to be stopt in, like a strong Distillation, with stinking Cloaths, that fretted in their own Grease: Think of that, a Man of my Kidney; think of that, that am as subject to heat as Butter; a Man of continual dissolution and thaw; it was a miracle to 'scape Suffocation. And in the height of this Bath, when I was more than half stew'd in Grease, like a Dutch Dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cool'd, glowing hot, in that serge, like a Horse-shoe; think of that; hissing hot, think of that, Master Broom.

Ford.

In good sadness, Sir, I am sorry that for my sake you suffer'd all this. My Suit is then desperate; you'll undertake her no more?

Fal.

Master Broom, I will be thrown into Etna, as I have been into Thames, e'er I will leave her thus. Her Husband is this Morning gone a birding; I have receiv'd from her another Ambassie of meeting; 'twixt eight and nine is the Hour, Master Brrom.

Ford.

'Tis past eight already, Sir.

Fal.

Is it? I will then address me to my Appointment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall know how I speed; and the Conclusion shall be crown'd with your enjoying her: Adieu, you shall have her, Master Broom, Master Broom, you shall cuckold Ford.

Ford.

Hum! Ha! Is this a Vision? Is this a Dream? Do I sleep? Master Ford awake, awake Master Ford; there's a Hole made in your best Coat, Master Ford: This 'tis to

be married! this 'tis to have Linnen and Buck-baskets! Well, I will proclaim my self what I am; I will now take the Leacher; he is at my House; he cannot 'scape me; 'tis impossible he should; he cannot creep into a Half-penny Purse, nor into a Pepper-box. But lest the Devil that guides him should aid him, I will search impossible places; tho' what I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not shall not make me tame: If I have Horns, to make one mad, let the Proverb go with me, I'll be horn-mad.