Ford.
Fal.
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, Mrs.
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?
Mrs. Ford.
He's a birding, sweet sir John.
Mrs. Page. [Within.]
What hoa! gossip Ford! what
hoa!
Mrs. Ford.
Step into the chamber, sir John.
[Exit Falstaff.
Enter Mrs. Page.
Mrs. Page.
How now, sweetheart! who's at home
besides yourself?
Mrs. Ford.
Why, none but mine own people.
Mrs. Page.
Indeed?
Mrs. Ford.
No, certainly.—[Aside.] Speak louder.
Mrs. Page.
Truly, I am so glad you have nobody
here.
Mrs. Ford.
Why?
Mrs. Page.
Why, woman, your husband is in his old
-- 246 --
lunes again1 note: he so takes on yonder with my husband;
so rails against all married 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 seemed but tameness,
civility, and patience, to this his distemper he is
in now. I am glad the fat knight is not here.
Mrs. Ford.
Why, does he talk of him?
Mrs. Page.
Of none but him; and swears, he was
carried out, the last time he searched 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.
Mrs. Ford.
How near is he, mistress Page?
Mrs. Page.
Hard by; at street end: he will be here
anon.
Mrs. Ford.
I am undone! the knight is here.
Mrs. Page.
Why, then you are utterly shamed, and
he's but a dead man. What a woman are you!—
Away with him, away with him: better shame, than
murder.
Mrs. Ford.
Which way should he go? how should I
bestow him? Shall I put him into the basket again?
Re-enter Falstaff.
Fal.
No, I'll come no more i' the basket. May I
not go out, ere he come?
Mrs. Page.
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?
-- 247 --
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 kiln-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. Page.
If you go out2 note in your own semblance,
you die, sir John. Unless you go out disguised,—
Mrs. Ford.
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 kerchief, and so escape.
Fal.
Good hearts, devise something: any extremity,
rather than a mischief.
Mrs. Ford.
My maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brentford3 note,
has a gown above.
Mrs. Page.
On my word it will serve him; she's as
big as he is: and there's her thrum'd hat, and her muffler
too.—Run up, sir John.
Mrs. Ford.
Go, go, sweet sir John: mistress Page
and I will look some linen for your head.
Mrs. Page.
Quick, quick: we'll come dress you
straight; put on the gown the while.
[Exit Falstaff.
-- 248 --
Mrs. Ford.
I would, my husband would meet him in
this shape: he cannot abide the old woman of Brentford;
he swears, she's a witch; forbade her my house,
and hath threatened to beat her.
Mrs. Page.
Heaven 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, howsoever 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 Brentford.
Mrs. Ford.
I'll first direct my men, what they shall
do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen for him
straight.
[Exit.
Mrs. Page.
Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot
misuse him enough4 note.
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 eat all the draff.”
[Exit.
Re-enter Mrs. Ford, with two Servants.
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; despatch.
[Exit.
1 Serv.
Come, come, take it up.
2 Serv.
Pray heaven, it be not full of knight again5 note.
1 Serv.
I hope not; I had as lief bear so much lead.
-- 249 -- 11Q0086
Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, 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
basket6 note!—O you panderly rascals! there's a knot, a
ging7 note, a pack, a conspiracy against me: now shall the
devil be shamed.—What, wife, I say! Come, come
forth: behold what honest clothes you send forth to
bleaching.
Page.
Why, this passes! Master Ford, you are not
to go loose any longer; you must be pinioned.
Eva.
Why, this is lunatics: this is mad as a mad
dog.
Shal.
Indeed, master Ford, this is not well; indeed.
Enter Mrs. 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?
Mrs. Ford.
Heaven be my witness, you do, if you
suspect me in any dishonesty.
Ford.
Well said, brazen-face; hold it out.—Come
forth, sirrah.
[Pulls the Clothes out of the Basket.
Page.
This passes!
Mrs. Ford.
Are you not ashamed? let the clothes
alone.
Ford.
I shall find you anon.
-- 250 --
Eva.
'Tis unreasonable. Will you take up your
wife's clothes? Come away.
Ford.
Empty the basket, I say.
Mrs. Ford.
Why, man, why,—
Ford.
Master Page, as I am a man, there was one
conveyed 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 linen.
Mrs. Ford.
If you find a man there, he shall die a
flea's death.
Page.
Here's no man.
Shal.
By my fidelity, this is not well, master Ford;
this wrongs you.
Eva.
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, show no colour for my extremity,
let me for ever be your table-sport; let them say of
me, “As jealous as Ford, that searched a hollow walnut
for his wife's leman8 note.” Satisfy me once more; once
more search with me.
Mrs. Ford.
What hoa! mistress Page! come you,
and the old woman, down; my husband will come into
the chamber.
Ford.
Old woman! What old woman's that?
Mrs. Ford.
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; we do not
know what's brought to pass under the profession of
fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, by
-- 251 --
the figure, and such daubery as this is; beyond our
element: we know nothing.—Come down, you witch,
you hag you; come down I say.
Mrs. Ford.
Nay, good, sweet husband.—Good gentlemen,
let him not strike the old woman9 note.
Enter Falstaff in Women's Clothes, led by Mrs. Page.
Mrs. Page.
Come, mother Prat; come, give me your
hand.
Ford.
I'll prat her.—Out of my door, you witch!
[beats him] you rag, you baggage, you polecat, you
ronyon10 note! out! out! I'll conjure you, I'll fortune-tell you.
[Exit Falstaff.
Mrs. Page.
Are you not ashamed? I think, you
have killed the poor woman.
Mrs. Ford.
Nay, he will do it.—'Tis a goodly credit
for you.
Ford.
Hang her, witch!
Eva.
By yea and no, I think, the 'oman is a witch
indeed: I like not when a 'oman has a great peard; I
spy a great peard under her muffler.
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 farther. Come,
gentlemen.
[Exeunt Ford, Page, Shallow, and Evans.
Mrs. Page.
Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.
Mrs. Ford.
Nay, by the mass, that he did not; he
beat him most unpitifully, methought.
Mrs. Page.
I'll have the cudgel hallowed, and hung
o'er the altar: it hath done meritorious service.
Mrs. Ford.
What think you? May we, with the
-- 252 --
warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good conscience,
pursue him with any farther revenge?
Mrs. Page.
The spirit of wantonness is, sure, scared
out of him: if the devil have him not in fee simple,
with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the
way of waste, attempt us again.
Mrs. Ford.
Shall we tell our husbands how we have
served him?
Mrs. Page.
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
shall be any farther afflicted, we two will still be the
ministers.
Mrs. Ford.
I'll warrant, they'll have him publicly
shamed, and, methinks, there would be no period to
the jest. Should he not be publicly shamed?
Mrs. Page.
Come, to the forge with it, then shape
it: I would not have things cool.
[Exeunt.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
