Quie. Troth, Sir, all is in his Hands above; but notwithstanding, Mafter Fenton, I'll be fworn on a Book fhe loves you: Have not your Worship a Wart above your Eye? Fent. Yes, marry have I; what of that?

Quic. Well, thereby hangs a Tale; good Faith, it is fuch another Nan; but, I deteft, an honeft Maid as ever broke Bread; we had an Hours talk of that Wart: I shall never laugh but in that Maid's Company; but, indeed, he is gi ven too much to Allicholly and Mufing, but for you Well go to.

Fent. Well, I fhall fee her to Day; hold, there's Mony for thee: Let me have thy Voice in my behalf; if thou fecft her before me, commend me.

Quic. Will I? Ay faith that we will: And I will tell your Worship more of the Wart, the next time we have confi dence, and of other Wooers.

Fent. Well, farewel, I am in great hafte now.

[Exit. Quic. Fare wel to your Worship. Truly an honest Gentleman, but Anne loves him not; I know Anne's Mind as well as another does. Out upon't, what have I forgot? [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter Miftrefs Page with a Letter.

Mrs. Page W Holy-day-time of my Beauty, and am I WH

HAT, have I 'fcap'd Love-Letters in the

now a Subject for them? let me fee:

Ask me no Reason why I love you; for tho' Love use Reafon for his. Precifian, he admits him not for his Counsellor : You are not young, no more am I go to then, there's Sympathy: You are merry, so am I ; ha! ha! then there's more Sympathy: You love Sack, and fo do I; would you defire better Sympathy? Let it fuffice thee, Mistress Page, at the leaft, if the Love of a Soldier can fuffice, that I love thee. I will not fay, Pity me, is not a Soldier-like Phrafe; but I fay, Love me:

Or

By me, thine own true Knight, by Day or Night,
any kind of Light, with all his Might,
For thee to fight.

John Falstaff.

What

What a Herod of Jury is this? O wicked, wicked World!
One that is well nigh worn to pieces with Age,
To fhow himself a young Gallant? What unwayed
Behaviour hath this Flemish Drunkard pickt,

I' th' Devil's Name, out of my Converfation, that he dares
in this manner affay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my
Company: What fhould I fay to him? I was then frugal of
my Mirth, Heav'n forgive me: Why, I'll exhibit a Bill in
the Parliament for the putting down of Men; how fhall I
be reveng'd on him? for reveng'd I will be, as fure as his
Guts are made of Puddings.
Enter Mrs. Ford.

Mrs. Ford. Miftrefs Page, trust me, I was going to your

House.

Mrs. Page. And truft me, I was coming to you; you look very ill.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to fhew to the contrary.

Mrs. Page. Faith you do, in my Mind.

Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then; yet I fay, I could fhew you to the contrary: O Miftrefs Page, give me fome Counsel, Mrs. Page. What's the matter, Woman?

Mrs. Ford. O Woman! if it were not for one trifling Re fpect, I could come to fuch Honour.

Mrs. Page. Hang the Trifle, Woman, take the Honour; what is it? difpenfe with Trifles; what is it?

Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to Hell for an eternal Moment, or fo, I could be knighted.

Mrs. Page. What, thou lieft! Sir Alice Ford! thefe Knights will hack, and fo thou fhouldft not alter the Article of thy Gentry.

Mrs. Ford. We burn Day-light, here; read, read, per ceive how I might be knighted: I fhall think the worfe of fat Men as long as I have an Eye to make difference of Men's liking; and yet he would not fwear, praise Wo men's Modefty, and gave fuch orderly and well-behaved Re proof to all Uncomelinefs, that I would have fworn his Di: fpofition would have gone to the Truth of his Words; but they do no more adhere, and keep Place together, than the hundreth Pfalm to the Tune of Green Sleeves. What

Tempeft,

Tempeft, I trow, threw this Whale, with fo many Tun of Oyl in his Belly, a' fhore at Windfor? How fhall I be rè̟veng'd on him? I think the best way were to entertain him with Hope, 'till the wicked Fire of Luft have melted him in his own Greafe. Did you ever hear the like?

Mrs. Page. Letter for Letter, but that the Name of Page and Ford differs. To thy great Comfort in this mystery of ill Opinions, here's the Twin-brother of thy Letter; but let thine inherit firft, for I proteft mine never fhall. I warrant he hath a thousand of thefe Letters, writ with blankfpace for different Names, nay more; and thefe are of the fecond Edition: He will print them out of doubt, for he cares not what he puts into the Prefs, when he would put us two. I had rather be a Giantess, and lye under MountPelion. Well, I will find you twenty lafcivious Turtles, e'er one chafte Man.

Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the very fame, the very Hand, the very Words; what doth he think of us?

Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not; it makes me almoft ready to wrangle with mine own Honefty. I'll entertain my felf like one that I am not acquainted withal; for fure, unless he knew fome Strain in me, that I know not my felf, he would never have boarded me in this Fury.

Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call it you? I'll be fure to keep him above Deck.

Mrs. Page. So will I; if he come under my Hatches, I'll never to Sea again. Let's be reveng'd on him, let's appoint him a Meeting, give him a fhow of Comfort in his Suit, and lead him on with a fine baited Delay, 'till he hath pawn'd his Horfes to mine Hoft of the Garter.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will confent to act any Villany against him that may not fully thy Charinefs of our Honesty: Oh that my Husband faw this Letter, it would give eternal Food to his Jealousie.

Mrs. Page. Why, look where he comes, and my good Man too; he's as far from Jealoufie as I am from gi ving him Caufe, and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable Diftance.

་

Mrs. Ford. You are the happier Woman.

Mrs. Page

Mrs. Page. Let's confult together against this greafie Knight. Come hither.

Enter Ford with Piftol, Page with Nym.

Ford. Well, I hope it be not fo.

Pift. Hope is a Curtal-dog in fome Affairs. Sir John affects your Wife.

Ford. Why, Sir, my Wife is not young.

Pift. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor, both young and old, and one with another, Ford; he loves thy Gally-mawfry, Ford, perpend.

Ford. Love my Wife?

Pift. 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?

Pift. The Horn, I fay: Farewel.

Take heed, have open Eye; for Thieves do foot by Night. Take heed e'er Summer comes, or Cuckoo-birds do fing. Away, Sir Corporal Nym.

Believe it, Page, he speaks Senfe.

[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 fome Humours: I should have born the humour'd Letter to her; but I have a Sword, and it fhall bite upon my Neceffity. He loves your Wife; there's the short and the long. My Name is Corporal Nym; Ifpeak it, and I avouch 'tis true, my Name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your Wife. Adieu; I love not the Humour of Bread and Cheefe: Adieu. [Exit Nym.

Page. The Humour of it, quoth 'a? here's a Fellow frights English out of his Wits.

Ford. I will feek out Falstaff.

Page. I never heard fuch a drawling, affecting Rogue. Ford. If I do find it: Well.

Page, I will not believe fuch a Cataian, tho' the Priest

o' th' Town commended him for a true Man.

Ford. 'Twas a good fenfible Fellow: Well.

Page. How now, Meg?

Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George? hark you.

Mrs. Ford. How now, fweet Frank, why art thou me lancholly?

Ford.

Ford. I melancholy! I am not melancholy.

Get you home, go.

Mrs. Ford. Faith thou haft fome Crotchets in thy Head. Now will you go, Mistress Page?

Mrs. Page. Have with you. You'll come to Dinner, George? Look who comes yonder; the fhall be our Meffenger to this paultry Knight.

Enter Mistress Quickly.

Mrs. Ford. Truft me, I thought on her; fhe'll fit it. Mrs. Page. You are come to fee my Daughter Anne? Quick, Ay, Forfooth; and I pray how does good Mistress Anne?

Mrs. Page. Go in with us and fee; we have an Hour's Talk with you. [Ex. Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Quicë Page. How now, Mafter 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 Yoke 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 fhould intend his Voy age toward 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 mifdoubt my Wife, but I would be loath to turn them together; a Man may be too confident; I would have nothing lye on my Head; I cannot be thus fa tisfy'd.

Page. Look where my ranting Hoft of the Garter comes; there is either Liquor in his Pate, or Mony in his Purse, when he looks fo merrily. How now, mine Hoft?

Enter Hoft and Shallow.

Hoft. How now, Bully Rock? Thou'rt a Gentleman, Cavalerio-Juftice, I fay.

Shal. I follow, mine Hoft, I follow. Good Even, and

twenty,