Page.
Mrs. Ford.
Sir John? Art thou there, my Deer?
My Male-Deer?
Fal.
My Doe with the black Scut? Let the Sky rain Potatoes,
let it thunder to the Tune of Green-Sleeves, hail
kissing-Comfits, and snow Eringoes, let there come a
Tempest of Provocation, I will shelter me here.
Mrs. Ford.
Mistress Page is come with me, sweet Heart.
Fal.
Divide me like a brib'd Buck, each a Haunch, I
will keep my Sides to my self, my Shoulders for the Fellow
of this Walk, and my Horns I bequeath your Husbands.
Am I a Woodman, ha? Speak I like the Herne the Hunter?
Why, now is Cupid a Child of Conscience, he makes Restitution.
As I am a true Spirit, welcome.
[Noise within.
Mrs. Page.
Alas! what Noise?
Mrs. Ford.
Heav'n forgive our Sins.
Fal.
What should this be?
Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Page.
Away, away.
[The Women run out.
Fal.
I think the Devil will not have me damn'd,
Lest the Oil that is in me should set Hell on Fire;
He would never else cross me thus.
Enter Fairies.
Quic.
Fairies, black, gray, green, and white,
You Moon-shine Revellers, and Shades of Night,
You Orphan-Heirs of fixed Destiny,
Attend your Office, and your Quality.
Crier Hobgoblin, make the Fairy O-yes.
Pist.
Elves, list your Names; silence, you airy Toys.
Cricket, to Windsor Chimneys shalt thou leap:
Where Fires thou find'st unrak'd, and Hearths unswept,
There pinch the Maids as blew as Bilbery.
Our radiant Queen hates Sluts and Sluttery.
Fal.
They are Fairies, he that speaks to them shall die.
I'll wink and couch; no Man their Works must eye.
[Lyes down upon his Face.
Eva.
Where's Bede? Go you, and where you find a Maid
That e'er she sleep has thrice her Prayers said,
-- 189 --
Raise up the Organs of her Fantasie,
Sleep she as sound as careless Infancy;
But those that sleep and think not on their Sins,
Pinch them, Arms, Legs, Backs, Shoulders, Sides and Shins.
Quic.
About, about;
Search Windsor Castle, Elves, within and out.
Strew good Luck, Ouphes, on every sacred Room,
That it may stand 'till the perpetual Doom,
In State as wholesom, as in State 'tis fit,
Worthy the Owner, and the Owner it.
The several Chairs of Order look you scour,
With Juice of Balm and ev'ry precious Flow'r;
Each fair Instalment, Coat, and sev'ral Crest,
With loyal Blazon evermore be blest.
And nightly-medow-Fairies, look you sing
Like to the Garter-compass in a Ring:
Th' Expressure that it bears, Green let it be,
More fertile fresh than all the Field to see;
And, Hony Soit Qui Mal-y-Pense write
In Emrold-tuffs, Flowers, purple, blue and white,
Like Saphire-pearl, and rich Embroidery,
Buckled below fair Knight-hoods bending Knee;
Fairies use Flow'rs for their Charactery.
Away, disperse; but 'till 'tis one a Clock
Our Dance of Custom round about the Oak
Of Herne the Hunter, let us not forget.
Eva.
Pray you lock Hand in Hand, your selves in order set;
And twenty Glow-worms shall our Lant-horns be
To guide our Measure round about the Tree.
But stay, I smell a Man of middle Earth.
Fal.
Heav'ns defend me from that Welch Fairy,
Lest he transform me to a piece of Cheese.
Pist.
Vild Worm, thou wast o'er-look'd even in thy
Birth.
Quic.
With Trial-fire touch his Finger end;
If he be Chaste, the Flame will back descend
And turn him to no Pain; but if he start,
It is the Flesh of a corrupted Heart.
Pist.
A Trial, come.
[They burn him with their Tapers, and pinch him.
Eva.
Come, will this Wood take fire?
-- 190 --
Fal.
Oh, oh, oh.
Quic.
Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in Desire;
About him, Fairies, sing a scornful Rhime,
And as you trip, still pinch him to your time.
The Song.
Fie on sinful Phantasie: Fie on Lust and Luxury:
Lust is but a bloody Fire, kindled with unchaste Desire.
Fed in Heart whose Flames aspire,
As Thoughts do blow them higher and higher.
Pinch him, Fairies, mutually; pinch him for his Villany:
Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about,
'Till Candles, and Star-light, and Moon-shine be out.
[He offers to run out.
Enter Page, Ford, &c. They lay hold on him.
Page.
Nay, do not fly, I think I have watcht you now;
Will none but Herne the Hunter serve your turn?
Mrs. Page.
I pray you come, hold up the Jest no higher.
Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor Wives?
See you these Husbands? Do not these fair Oaks
Become the Forest better than the Town?
Ford.
Now, Sir, who's a Cuckold now?
Mr. Broom, Falstaff's a Knave, a cuckoldy Knave,
Here are his Horns, Master Broom;
And, Master Broom, he hath enjoy'd nothing of Ford
But his Buck-basket, his Cudgel, and twenty Pounds of
Mony, which must be paid to Mr. Broom; his Horses are
arrested for it, Mr. Broom.
Mrs. Ford.
Sir John, we have had ill Luck; we could
never meet. I will never take you for my Love again, but I
will always count you my Deer.
Fal.
I do begin to perceive that I am made an Ass.
Ford.
Ay, and an Ox to: Both the Proofs are extant.
Fal.
And these are not Fairies:
I was three or four times in the Thought they were not
Fairies, and yet the guiltiness of my Mind, the sudden surprize
of my Powers, drove the grosness of the Foppery into
a receiv'd Belief, in despight of the Teeth of all Rhime
and Reason, that they were Fairies. See now how Wit may
be made a Jack-a-Lent, when 'tis upon ill Imployment.
-- 191 --
Eva.
Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your Desires,
and Fairies will not pinse you.
Ford.
Well said, Fairy Hugh.
Eva.
And leave you your Jealouzies too, I pray you.
Ford.
I will never mistrust my Wife again, 'till thou art
able to woo her in good English.
Fal.
Have I laid my Brain in the Sun and dry'd it, that
it wants Matter to prevent so gross o'er-reaching as this?
Am I ridden with a Welch Goat too? Shall I have a Coxcomb
of Frize? 'Tis time I were choak'd with a piece of
toasted Cheese.
Eva.
Seese is not good to give Putter; your Pelly is all
Putter.
Fal.
Seese and Putter? Have I liv'd to stand at the taunt
of one that makes Fritters of English? This is enough to
be the decay of Lust and late-walking through the Realm.
Mrs. Page.
Why Sir John, do you think, though we
would have thrust Virtue out of our Hearts by the Head
and Shoulders, and have given our selves without scruple
to Hell, that ever the Devil could have made you our Delight.
Ford.
What, a Hodge-pudding? A Bag of Flax?
Mrs. Page.
A puft Man?
Page.
Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable Entrails?
Ford.
And one that is as slanderous as Satan?
Page.
And as poor as Job?
Ford.
And as wicked as his Wife?
Eva.
And given to Fornications, and to Taverns, and
Sack, and Wine, and Metheglin, and to Drinkings, and Swearings,
and Staring? Pribbles and prabbles?
Fal.
Well, I am your Theme; you have the start of me,
I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welch Flannel,
Ignorance it self is a Plummet o'er me, use me as you
will.
Ford.
Marry Sir, we'll bring you to Windsor to one Mr.
Broom, that you have cozen'd of Mony, to whom you
should have been a Pander: Over and above that you have
suffer'd, I think, to repay that Mony will be a biting Affliction.
Page.
Yet be cheerful, Knight, thou shalt eat a Posset to
Night at my House, where I will desire thee to laugh at
-- 192 --
my Wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her Mr. Slender
hath marry'd her Daughter.
Mrs. Page.
Doctors doubt that;
If Anne Page be my Daughter, she is, by this, Doctor
Caius's Wife.
Enter Slender.
Slen.
What hoe! hoe! Father Page!
Page.
Son? How now? How now Son,
Have you dispatch'd?
Slen.
Dispatch'd? I'll make the best in Gloucester shire know
on't; would I were hang'd-la, else.
Page.
Of what, Son?
Slen.
I came yonder at Eaton to marry Mistress Anne
Page, and she's a great lubberly Boy. If it had not been
i'th' Church, I would have swing'd him, or he should have
swing'd me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page,
would I might never stir, and 'tis a Post-master's Boy.
Page.
Upon my Life then you took the wrong.
Slen.
What need you tell me that? I think so, when I
took a Boy for a Girl: If I had been marry'd to him,
for all he was in Woman's Apparel, I would not have had
him.
Page.
Why, this is your own Folly.
Did not I tell you how you should know my Daughter
By her Garments?
Slen.
I went to her in green and cry'd Mum, and she
cry'd Budget, as Anne and I had appointed, and yet it was
not Anne, but a Post-master's Boy.
Mrs. Page.
Good George be not angry; I knew of your
purpose, turn'd my Daughter into white, and indeed she is
now with the Doctor at the Deanry, and there marry'd.
Enter Caius.
Caius.
Ver is Mistress Page; by gar I am cozon'd, I ha'
marry'd one Garsoon, a Boe; oon Pesant, by gar. A Boy,
it is not Anne Page, by gar, I am cozon'd.
Mrs. Page.
Why? Did you take her in white?
Caius.
Ay be gar, and 'tis a Boy; be gar, I'll raise all
Windsor.
Ford.
This is strange; who hath got the right Anne?
Page.
My Heart misgives me; here comes Mr. Fenton.
How now Mr. Fenton?
-- 193 --
Anne.
Pardon, good Father; good my Mother, Pardon.
Page.
Now Mistress,
How chance you went not with Mr. Slender?
Mrs. Page.
Why went you not with Mr. Doctor, Maid?
Fent.
You do amaze her. Hear the Truth of it:
You would have marry'd her most shamefully,
Where there was no proportion held in Love:
The Truth is, she and I, long since contracted,
Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us.
Th' Offence is holy that she hath committed,
And this Deceit loses the name of Craft,
Of Disobedience, or unduteous Title;
Since therein she doth evitate and shun
A thousand irreligious cursed Hours
Which forced Marriage would have brought upon her.
Ford.
Stand not amaz'd, here is no Remedy.
In Love, the Heav'ns themselves do guide the State;
Mony buys Lands, and Wives are sold by Fate.
Fal.
I am glad, tho' you have ta'en a special Stand to
strike at me, that your Arrow hath glanc'd.
Page.
Well, that Remedy? Fenton, Heav'n give thee
Joy; what cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd.
Fal.
When Night-dogs run, all sorts of Deer are chac'd.
Mrs. Page.
Well, I will muse no further: Mr. Fenton,
Heav'n give you many, many merry Days.
Good Husband, let us every one go home,
And laugh this Sport o'er by a Country Fire,
Sir John and all.
Ford.
Let it be so, Sir John:
To Master Broom you yet shall hold your Word;
For he, to Night, shall lye with Mistress Ford.
[Exeunt.
