Enter FENTON.

Fent. How now, good woman; how dost thou ? Quick. The better, that it pleases your good worship to ask.

Fent. What news? how does pretty mistress Anne? Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you that by the way; I praise Heaven for it.

Fent. Shall I do any good, thinkest thou? shall I not lose my suit?

Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above: but notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a book, she loves you. Have not your worship a wart above your eye?

Fent. Yes, marry, have I; what of that?

Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale;-good faith, it is such another Nan;-but, I detest, an honest maid as ever broke bread :-We had an hour's talk of that wart;—I shall never laugh but in that maid's company!-But, indeed, she is given too much to allicholly and musing: But for you-Well-go to.

Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day: Hold, there's money for thee; let me have thy voice in my behalf: if thou seest her before me, commend me

Quick. Will I ay i'faith, that we will, and I will tell your worship more of the wart, the next time we have confidence; and of other wooers.

Fent. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now. [Exit FENTON. Quick. Farewell 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 THE SECOND.

SCENE I.

Before PAGE's House.

Enter MRS. PAGE, reading a Letter. Mrs. Page. What, have I 'scap'd love-letters in the holyday-time of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them? Let me see:

[Reads.

Ask me no reason why I love you; for, though love use reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor: You are not young, no more am I; go to then, there is sympathy: you are merry, so am I : Ha! ha! then there's more sympathy: you love sack, and so do I: Would you desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page, (at least, if the love of a soldier can suffice,) that I love thee: I will not say, pity me! 'tis not a soldier-like phrase; but I say, love me.

What a Herod of Jury is this!-O wicked, wicked world!-What one unweigh'd behaviour has this Flemish drunkard pick'd out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner assay me? Why, he hath not

been thrice in my company!-How shall I be reveng'd on him? for reveng'd I will be, as sure as

Enter MRS. FORD.

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

Mrs. Page. And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look very ill.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to show to the contrary. Mrs. Page. 'Faith, but

you do, in my mind. Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then; yet, I say, I could show you to the contrary:-O, Mistress Page, give me some counsel!

Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman?

Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect, I could come to such honour!

Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour: What is it?-dispense with trifles;-what is it?

Mrs. Ford. I could be knighted.

Mrs. Page. What?-thou dost jest!

Mrs. Ford. We burn daylight:-here, read, read; -perceive how I might be knighted.-I shall think the worse of fat men, as long as I have an eye to make difference of men's liking: And yet he would not swear; praised women's modesty; and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof to all uncomeliness, that I would have sworn his disposition would have gone to the truth of his words; but they do no more adhere, and keep place together, than the hundredth psalm to the tune of " Green Sleeves," What tempest, I trow, threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly, ashore at Windsor? How shall I be reveng'd on him?-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

D

letter: but let thine inherit first; for, I protest, mine never shall. I warrant, he hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank space for different names.

Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the very same: the very hand, the very words: What doth he think of us?

Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not: It makes me almost ready to wrangle with mine own honesty; for sure, unless he knew some stain in me, that I know not myself, he would never have boarded me in this fury. Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call you it?

Mrs. Page. Let's be reveng'd on him: let's appoint him a meeting; give him a show of comfort in his suit; and lead him on with a fine baited delay, till he hath pawn'd his horses to mine host of the Garter.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villainy against him, that may not sully the chariness of our honesty. Oh, that my husband saw this letter! it would give eternal food to his jealousy.

Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes; and my good man too: he's as far from jealousy, as I am from giving him cause.

Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman.

Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against this greasy knight-Look, who comes yonder.

Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Quickly.

Mrs. Page. She shall be our messenger to this paltry knight.

it.

Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her; she'll fit [Exeunt.

Enter FORD, with PISTOL, and PAGE, with NYM.

Ford. Well, I hope, it be not so.

Pist. Hope is a curtail-dog in some affairs:

Sir John affects thy wife:

He loves thy gally-mawfry; Ford, perpend.
Ford. Love my wife?

Pist. With liver burning hot: Prevent, or go thou, Like Sir Acteon he, with Ringwood at thy heels.

O, odious is the name.

Ford. What name, sir?

Pist. The horn, I say: Farewell.

-

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.

[Exit PISTOL. Ford. I will be patient? Iwill find out this. Nym. And this is true: I like not the humour of lying.

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; and there's the humour of it. Adieu. [Exit NYM. Page. "The humour of it," quotha'! here's a fellow frights humour out of its wits.

Ford. I will seek out Falstaff.—If I do find it, well.

Page. I will not believe such a Cataian, though the priest of the town commended him for a true man. Ford. "Twas a good sensible fellow: Well. Page. How now, Master 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.

Ford. Were they his men?
Page. Marry, were they.