Page.

How now, master Ford?

Ford.

You heard what this knave told me, did you not?

Page.

Yes; and you heard what the other told me?

Ford.

Do you think there is truth in them?

Page.

Hang 'em, slaves; I do not think, the Knight would offer it; but these, that accuse him in his intent towards our wives, are a yoak of his discarded men; very rogues, now they be out of service.

Ford.

Were they his men?

Page.

Marry, were they.

Ford.

I like it never the better for that. Does he lye at the Garter?

Page.

Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend his voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loose to him; and what he gets more of her than sharp words, let it lye on my head.

Ford.

I do not misdoubt my wife, but I would be loth to turn them together; a man may be too confident; I would have nothing lye on my head; I cannot be thus satisfy'd.

Page.

Look, where my ranting Host of the Garter comes; there is either liquor in his pate, or mony in his purse, when he looks so merrily. How now, mine Host?