Fal.

No, I'll come no more i'th' basket: may I not go out ere he come?

Mrs. Page.

Alas, alas, three of master Ford's brothers watch the door with pistols, that none should issue out, otherwise you might slip ere 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.

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 kercheif, and so escape.

Fal.

Good heart, 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.

Mrs. Ford.

Go, go, sweet Sir John, mistress Page and I will look some linnen for your head.

Mrs. Poge.

Quick, quick, we'll come dress you straight; put on the gown the while.

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, however 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.

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.

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.

Previous section

Next section