Ford.
Fals.
Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up
my sufferance: I see, you are obsequious in your love,
and I profess requital to a hair's breadth; not only, mistress
Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all the
accoutrement, complement, and ceremony of it. But
are you sure of your husband now?
M. Fo.
He's a birding, sweet sir John.
M. Pa. [within.]
What hoa, gossip Ford! what hoa!
M. Fo.
Step into the chamber, sir John.
[Exit Falstaff.
Enter Mistress Page.
M. Pa.
How now, sweet heart? who's at home besides
yourself?
M. Fo.
Why, none but mine own people.
M. Pa.
Indeed?
M. Fo.
No, certainly: &clquo;Speak louder.&crquo;
M. Pa.
Truly, I am so glad you have no body here:
M. Fo.
Why?
M. Pa.
Why, woman, your husband is in his old
-- 68 --
lunes note again: he so takes on yonder with my husband;
so rails against all marry'd mankind; so curses all Eve's
daughters, of what complexion soever; and so buffets
himself on the forehead, 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.
M. Fo.
Why, does he talk of him?
M. Pa.
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.
M. Fo.
How near is he, mistress Page?
M. Pa.
Hard by; at street end; note he will be here anon.
M. Fo.
I am undone!—the knight is here.
M. Pa.
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.
M. Fo.
Why, which way should he go? how should
I bestow him? Shall I put him into the basket again?
Re-enter Falstaff.
Fals.
No, I'll come no more i' th' basket:—May
I not go out ere he come?
M. Pa.
Alas, three of master Ford's brothers watch
the door with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise,
you might slip away ere he came: But what make
you here?
Fals.
What shall I do?—I'll creep up into the chimney.
-- 69 --
M. Fo.
There they always use to discharge their
birding pieces: note Creep into the kiln-hole.
Fals.
Where is it?
M. Fo.
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.
Fals.
I'll go out then.
M. Fo.
If you go out14Q0073 in your own semblance, you
dye, sir John; unless you go out disguis'd,—How might note
we disguise him?
M. Pa.
Alas 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 kerchief, note and so escape.
Fals.
Good hearts, devise something: any extremity,
rather than a mischief.
M. Fo.
My maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brentford,
has a gown above.
M. Pa.
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.
M. Fo.
Go, go, sweet sir John: mistress Page, and
I, will look some linnen for your head.
M. Pa.
Quick, quick; we'll come dress you straight:
put on the gown the while.
[Exit Falstaff.
M. Fo.
I would, my husband would meet him in
this shape: he cannot abide the old woman of Brentford;
he swears, she's a witch; forbad her my house, and hath
threaten'd to beat her.
M. Pa.
Heaven guide him to thy husband's cudgel;
and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards!
-- 70 --
M. Fo.
But is my husband coming?
M. Pa.
Ay, in good sadness, is he; and talks of the
basket too, howsoever he hath had intelligence.
M. Fo.
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.
M. Pa.
Nay, but he'll be here presently: let's go
dress him like the witch of Brentford.
M. Fo.
I'll first direct my men, what they shall do
with the basket:—Go up; I'll bring linnen for him
straight.
[Exit.
M. Pa.
Hang him dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse
him note note 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 draff.
[Exit.
Re-enter Mistress Ford, with her two Men.
M. Fo.
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.
[Exit.
1. Ser.
Come, come, take it up.
2. Ser.
Pray heaven, it be not full of the note note knight
again!
1. Ser.
I hope not; I had as lief note bear so much lead.
Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, and Sir Hugh 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!—O, you panderly rascals!—there's a knot, a
gang note, a pack, a conspiracy against me:—Now shall the
-- 71 --
devil be sham'd note:—What, wife, I say! come, come forth;
behold what honest cloaths you send forth to bleaching.
Page.
Why, this passes!—Master Ford, you are not
to go loose any longer; you must be pinion'd.
Sir H.
Why, this is lunaticks! this is mad as a
mad dog!
Shal.
Indeed, master Ford, this is not well; indeed.
Enter Mistress Ford.
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?
M. Fo.
Heaven be my witness, you do, if you suspect
me in any dishonesty.
Ford.
Well said, brazen-face; hold it out:—Come
forth, sirrah.
[pulling out the Cloaths.
Page.
This passes!
M. Fo.
Are you not asham'd? let the cloaths alone.
Ford.
I shall find you anon.
Sir H.
'Tis unreasonable!—Will you take up your
wife's cloaths? come away.
Ford.
Empty the basket, I say.
M. Fo.
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 jealousy is reasonable;
—Pluck me out all the linnen.
M. Fo.
If you find a man there, he shall dye a
flea's death.
Page.
Here's no man.
-- 72 --
Shal.
By my fidelity, this is not well, master Ford;
this wrongs you.
Sir H.
Master 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 search'd a hollow walnut
for his wife's leman: Satisfy me once more; once
more search with me.
M. Fo.
What ho, mistress Page! come you, and the
old woman, down; my husband will come into the
chamber.
Ford.
Old woman! what old woman's that?
M. Fo.
Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brentford.
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&dotup; we do not know
what's brought to pass under the profession of fortune-telling&dotup;
She works by charms, by spells, by the figure,
and such dawbery as this is; beyond our element&dotup; we
know nothing&dotup;—Come down, you witch, you hag you;
come down, I say.
M. Fo.
Nay, good sweet husband;—good gentlemen,
let him not strike note the old woman.
Enter Mistress Page; leading in Falstaff, disguis'd.
M. Pa.
Come, mother Prat, come, give me your hand.
Ford.
I'll Prat her:—Out of my doors, note you
witch; [to Fals.] you hag, note you baggage, you poulcat,
-- 73 --
you ronyon note! out, out! I'll conjure you, I'll fortune-tell
you.
[beating, and driving him out.
M. Pa.
Are you not asham'd? I think, you have
kill'd the poor woman.
M. Fo.
Nay, he will do it;—'Tis a goodly credit for you.
Ford.
Hang her witch!
Sir H.
By yea and no, I think the 'oman is a witch
indeed: I like not when a 'omans note has a great peard; I
spy a great peard under his muffler. note
Ford.
Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you,
follow; see but the issue of my jealousy: if I cry out
thus upon no trail, never trust me when I open again.
Page.
Let's obey his humour a little further:
Come, gentlemen.
[Exeunt Page, Ford, Shal. and Sir Hugh.
M. Pa.
Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.
M. Fo.
Nay, by th' mass, that he did not; he beat
him most unpitifully, methought.
M. Pa.
I'll have the cudgel hallow'd, and hung o'er
the altar; it hath done meritorious service.
M. Fo.
What think you? may we, with the warrant
of womanhood, and the witness of a good conscience,
pursue him with any further revenge?
M. Pa.
The spirit of wantonness is, sure, scar'd out
of him; if the devil have him not in fee-simple, with
fine and note recovery, he will never, I think, in the way
of waste, attempt us again.
M. Fo.
Shall we tell our husbands how we have
serv'd him?
M. Pa.
Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape
the figures out of your husband's brains: If they can
find in their hearts, the poor, unvirtuous, fat knight
-- 74 --
shall be any further afflicted, we two will be still note the
ministers.
M. Fo.
I'll warrant, they'll have him publickly
sham'd: and, methinks, there would be no fit period
to the jest note, should he not be publickly sham'd.
M. Pa.
Come, to the forge with it then, shape it;
I would not have things cool.
[Exeunt.
Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
