Ford.
Fal.
Mistress Ford, your Sorrow hath eaten up my Sufferance;
I see you are obsequious in your Love, and I profess
Requital to a hairs breath, not only, Mistress Ford, in the
simple Office of Love, but in all the Accoustrement, Complement,
and Ceremony of it. But are you sure of your
Husband now?
Mrs. Ford.
He's a birding, sweet Sir John.
Mrs. Page, [within.]
What hoa, Gossip Ford! what hoa!
Mrs. Ford.
Step into th' Chamber, Sir John.
[Ex. Falstaff.
Enter Mistress Page.
Mrs. Page.
How now, sweet Heart, who's at home besides
your self?
Mrs. Ford.
Why none but mine own People.
Mrs. Page.
Indeed?
Mrs. Ford.
No certainly.—Speak louder.
Mrs. Page.
Truly, I am so glad you have no body here.
Mrs. Ford.
Why?
Mrs. Page.
Why Woman, your Husband is in his old
Lines again; he so takes on yonder with my Husband, so
rails against all married Mankind, so curses all Eve's Daughters,
of what Complexion soever, and so buffets himself on
the Fore-head, crying peer-out, peer-out, that any Madness
I ever yet beheld seem'd but Tameness, Civility and Patience
to this his Distemper he is in now; I am glad the fat
Knight is not here.
Mrs. Ford.
Why does he talk of him?
-- 174 --
Mrs. Page.
Of none but him, and swears he was carry'd
out, the last time he search'd for him, in a Basket; protests
to my Husband he is now here, and hath drawn him
and the rest of their Company from their Sport, to make
another Experiment of his Suspicion, but I am glad the
Knight is not here; now he shall see his own Foolery.
Mrs. Ford.
How near is he, Mistress Page?
Mrs. Page.
Hard by, at Streets end, he will be here anon.
Mrs. Ford.
I am undone, the Knight is here.
Mrs. Page.
Why then you are utterly sham'd, and he's
but a dead Man. What a Woman are you? Away with
him, away with him, better Shame than Murther.
Mrs. Ford.
Which way should he go? How should I
bestow him? Shall I put him into the Basket again?
Enter Falstaff.
Fal.
No, I'll come no more i'th Basket:
May I not go out e'er he come?
Mrs. Page.
Alas, three of Master Ford's Brothers watch
the Door with Pistols, that none should issue out, otherwise
you might slip away e'er he came: But what make you here?
Fal.
What shall I do? I'll creep up into the Chimney.
Mrs. Ford.
There they always use to discharge their
Birding-Pieces; creep into the Kill-Hole.
Fal.
Where is it?
Mrs. Ford.
He will seek there, on my Word: Neither
Press, Coffer, Chest, Trunk, Well, Vault, but he hath
an Abstract for the remembrance of such Places, and goes
to them by his Note; there is no hiding you in the House.
Fal.
I'll go out then.
Mrs. Ford.
If you go out in your own Semblance, you
die, Sir John, unless you go out disguis'd. How might we
disguise him?
Mrs. Page.
Alass-the-Day; I know not, there is no Woman's
Gown big enough for him, otherwise he might put
on a Hat, a Muffler, and a Kercheif, and so escape.
Fal.
Good Hearts, devise something; any Extremity, rather
than Mischief.
Mrs. Ford.
My Maid's Aunt, the fat Woman of Brainford,
has a Gown above.
Mrs. Page.
On my Word it will serve him, she's as big
as he is; and there's her thrumb Hat, and her Muffler too.
Run up. Sir John.
-- 175 --
Mrs. Ford.
Go, go, sweet Sir John, Mistress Page and I
will look some Linnen for your Head.
Mrs. Page.
Quick, quick, we'll come dress you straight;
put on the Gown the while.
[Exit Falstaff.
Mrs. Ford.
I would my Husband would meet him in
this Shape, he cannot abide the old Woman of Brainford;
he swears she's a Witch, forbad her my House, and hath
threatned to beat her.
Mrs. Page.
Heav'n guide him to thy Husband's Cudgel,
and the Devil guide his Cudgel afterwards.
Mrs. Ford.
But is my Husband coming?
Mrs. Page.
Ay in good Sadness is he, and talks of the
Basket too, howsoever he hath had Intelligence.
Mrs. Ford.
We'll try that; for I'll appoint my Men to
carry the Basket again, to meet him at the Door with it, as
they did last time.
Mrs. Page.
Nay, but he'll be here presently; let's go dress
him like the Witch of Brainford.
Mrs. Ford.
I'll first direct my Men, what they shall do
with the Basket; go up, I'll bring Linnen for him straight.
Mrs. Page.
Hang him, dishonest Varlet,
We cannot misuse him enough.
We'll leave a Proof, by that which we will do,
Wives may be merry, and yet honest too.
We do not act, that often jest and laugh:
'Tis old, but true, Still Swine eats all the Draugh.
Mrs. Ford.
Go Sirs, take the Basket again on your Shoulders;
your Master is hard at door; if he bid you set it down,
obey him: Quickly, dispatch.
Enter Servants with the Basket.
1 Serv.
Come, come, take up.
2 Serv.
Pray Heav'n it be not full of the Knight again.
1 Serv.
I hope not. I had as lief bear so much Lead.
Enter Ford, Shallow, Page, Caius and Evans.
Ford.
Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any
way then to unfool me again? Set down the Basket, Villain;
somebody call my Wife: Youth in a Basket. Oh you
panderly Rascals, there's a Knot, a Gang, a Pack, a Conspiracy
against me; now shall the Devil be sham'd. What,
I say, come, come forth, behold what honest Cloaths you
send forth to bleaching.
-- 176 --
Page.
Why, this passes Mr. Ford; you are not to go loose
nay longer, you must be pinnion'd.
Eva.
Why, this is Lunaticks; this is mad as a mad Dog.
Shal.
Indeed, Mr. Ford, this is not well indeed.
Ford.
So say I too, Sir. Come hither Mistress Ford, Mistress
Ford, the honest Woman, the modest Wife, the virtuous
Creature, that hath the jealous Fool to her Husband: I
suspect without Cause, Mistress, do I?
Mrs. Ford.
Heav'n be my Witness you do, if you suspect
me in any Dishonesty.
Ford.
Well said, Brazen-face, hold it out: Come forth,
Sirrah.
[Pulls the Cloaths out of the Basket.
Page.
This passes.
Mrs. Ford.
Are you not asham'd, let the Cloaths alone.
Ford.
I shall find you anon.
Eva.
'Tis unreasonable; will you take up your Wife's
Cloaths? Come away.
Ford.
Empty the Basket, I say.
Mrs. Ford.
Why Man, why?
Ford.
Master Page, as I am a Man, there was one convey'd
out of my House Yesterday in this Basket; why may
not he be there again? In my House I am sure he is; my
Intelligence is true, my Jealousie is reasonable, pluck me out
all the Linnen.
Mrs. Ford.
If you find a Man there, he shall die a Flea's
death.
Page.
Here's no Man.
Shal.
By my Fidelity this is not well, Mr. Ford; this
wrongs you.
Eva.
Mr. Ford, you must pray, and not follow the Imaginations
of your own Heart; this is Jealousies.
Ford.
Well, he's not here I seek for.
Page.
No, nor no where else but in your Brain.
Ford.
Help to search my House this one time; if I find
not what I seek, shew no colour for my Extremity; let
me for ever be your Table-sport; let them say of me, As
jealous as Ford, that searched a hollow Wall-nut for his
Wives Lemman. Satisfie me once more, once more search
with me.
Mrs. Ford.
What hoa, Mistress Page! come you and the
old Woman down; my Husband will come into the Chamber.
-- 177 --
Ford.
Old Woman! What old Woman's that?
Mrs. Ford.
Why, it is my Maid's Aunt of Brainford.
Ford.
A Witch, a Quean, an old cozening Quean; have
I not forbid her my House? She comes of Errands, does
she? We are simple Men, we do not know what's brought
to pass under the Profession of Fortune-telling. She works
by Charms, by Spells, by th' Figure, and such dawbry as
this is, beyond our Element; we know nothing. Come
down, you Witch, you Hag you, come down, I say.
Mrs. Ford.
Nay, good sweet Husband; good Gentlemen,
let him not strike the old Woman.
Enter Falstaff in Womens Cloaths.
Mrs. Page.
Come Mother Prat, come, give me your Hand.
Ford.
I'll Prat her. Out of my Door you Witch, [Beats him.]
you Hag, you Baggage, you Poulcat, you Runnion, out,
out; I'll Conjure you, I'll Fortune-tell you.
[Exit Fal.
Mrs. Page.
Are you not asham'd?
I think you have kill'd the poor Woman.
Mrs. Ford.
Nay, he will do it; 'tis a goodly Credit for
you.
Ford.
Hang her, Witch.
Eva.
By yea, and no, I think the o'man is a Witch indeed:
I like not when a o'man has a great Peard; I spy a
great Peard under his Muffler.
Ford.
Will you follow, Gentlemen? I beseech you follow;
see but the Issue of my Jealousie; if I cry out thus upon
no Trial, never trust me when I open again.
Page.
Let's obey his Humour a little further:
Come, Gentlemen.
[Exeunt.
Mrs. Page.
Trust me he beat him most pitifully.
Mrs. Ford.
Nay, by th' Mass that he did not; he beat him
most unpitifully, methought.
Mrs. Page.
I'll have the Cudgel hallow'd, and hung o'er
the Altar, it hath done meritorious Service.
Mrs. Ford.
What think you? May we, with the warrant
of Woman-hood, and the witness of a good Conscience, pursue
him with any further Revenge?
Mrs. Page.
The Spirit of Wantonness is sure scar'd out
of him; if the Devil have him not in Fee-simple, with Fine
-- 178 --
and Recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of waste,
attempt us again,
Mrs. Ford.
Shall we tell our Husbands how we have served
him?
Mrs. Page.
Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the
Figures out of your Husband's Brain. If they can find in
their Hearts the poor unvirtuous fat Knight shall be any
further afflicted, we two will still be the Ministers.
Mrs. Ford.
I'll warrant they'll have him publickly sham'd;
and methinks there would be no period to the Jest, should he
not be publickly sham'd.
Mrs. Page.
Come to the Forge with it, then shape it: I
would not have things cool.
[Exeunt.
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].
