Ford.
Well, I hope it be not so.

Pist.
Hope is a curtal-dog in some affairs.
Sir John affects thy wife.

Ford.
Why Sir, my wife is not young.

Pist.
He woos both high and low, both rich and poor,
Both young and old, one with another, Ford;
He loves thy gally-mawfry, Ford, perpend.

Ford.
Love my wife?

Pist.
With liver burning hot: prevent, or go thou, like Sir
Acteon, with ring-wood at thy heels—O, odious is the name.

Ford.
What name, Sir?

Pist.
The horn, I say: farewel.
Take heed, have open eye; for thieves do foot by night.
Take heed ere summer comes, or cuckoo-birds do sing.
Away, Sir corporal Nym.
Believe it, Page, he speaks sense. [Exit Pistol.

Ford.
I will be patient; I will find out this.

Nym.

And this is true: I like not the humour of lying; he hath wrong'd me in some humours: I should have born the humour'd letter to her; but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves your wife; there's the short and the long. My name is Corporal Nym; I speak, and I avouch; 'tis true; my name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife. Adieu; I love not the humour of bread and cheese: adieu.

Page.

The humour of it, quoth 'a? here's a fellow ^{f note} frights humour out of its wits.

Ford.

I will seek out Falstaff.

Page.

I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.

Ford.

If I do find it: well.

Page.

I will not believe such a Cataian, tho' the priest o'th' town commended him for a true man.

Ford.

'Twas a good sensible fellow: well.