along the streete, and enquire of his houfe for one mistris Quickly, his woman, or his try nurfe, and deliuer this letter to her, it is about M. Slender. Looke you, will you do it now?

Sim. I warrant you fir.

Sir Hugh. Pray you do, I muft not be abfent at the grace. I will go make an end of my dinner,

There is pepions and cheese behinde.

Exit omnes.

Enter Sir Iohn Falstaffes Hoft of the Garter, Nym, Bardolfe, Piftoll, and the Boy.

Fal. Mine Hoft of the Garter.

Hoft. What fays my bully rooke?

Speake schollerly and wifely.

Fal. Mine Hoft, I must turne away fome of my followers. Hoft. Difcard bully, Hercules cashire.

Set them wag, trot, trot.

Fal. I fit at ten pound a weeke.

Hoft. Thou art an emperor Cafar, Phesser and Kefar bully. Ile entertaine Bardolfe. He fhall tap, he fhall draw.

Said I well, bully Hector?

Fal. Do good mine Host.

Hoft. I haue fpoke. Let him follow. Bardolfe,

Let me fee thee froth, and lyme.

I am at a word. Follow, follow.

Fal. Do Bardolfe, a tapfter is a good trade,

Exit Hoft.

An old cloake will make a new ierkin,

A withered feruingman, a fresh tapfter:

Follow him Bardolfe.

Bar. I will fir, Ile warrant you He make a goode shift to liue.

Exit Bardolfe.

Pif. O bafe gongarian wight, wilt thou the spicket weeld? Nym. His minde is not heroick. And there's the humor of it.

Fal. Well my laddes, I am almoft out at the heeles.

Pis. Why then let cybes enfue.

Nym. I thanke thee for that humor.

Falstaffe. Well, I am glad I am fo rid of this tinder boy. His stealth was too open, his filching was like

An vnfkilful finger, he kept not time.

Nym. The good humour is to steale at a minutes rest.
Pif. Tis fo indeed Nym, thou haft hit it right.

Falstaffe. Wel, afore God I must cheate, I must conycatch. Which of you knowes Foord of this towne ?

Pif. Iken the wight, he is of substance good.

Fal. Well my honest lads, Ile tell you what I am about.

Pif. Two yards and more.

Fal. No gibes now Piftoll; indeed I am two yards

In the waste, but now I am about no waste:
Briefly, I am about thrift you rogues you,
I do intend to make loue to Foords wife,
I efpy entertainment in her. She carues, she
Difcourfes, fhe giues the lyre of inuitation,

And euery part to be conftured rightly is, I am
Sir John Falstaffes.

Pif. Hee hath studied her well, out of honefty into English.

Fal. Now the report goes,

She hath all the rule of her husbands purse.

She hath legions of angels.

Pif. As many deuils attend her.

And to her boy fay I.

Fal. Heeres a letter to her. Heeres another to miftreffe

Page.

Who euen now gaue me good eyes too, examined my exteriors with fuch a greedy intention, with the beames of her

beauty,

beauty, that it feemed as shee would a scorged me vp like a burning glaffe. Heere is another letter to her, fhe beares the purse too. They shall be exchequers to me, and Ile be cheaters to them both. They fhall be my Eaft and Weft Indies and Ile trade to them both. Heere, beare thou this letter to miftris Foord. And thou this to miftreffe Page. Wee'l thriue lads, we will thriue.

Pift. Shall I fir Panderowes of Troy become? And by my fword weare steele.

Then Lucifer take all.

Nym. Here, take your humor letter againe,
For my part, I will keepe the hauior
Of reputation. And theres the humor of it.
Fal. Heere firra, beare me these letters titely,
Saile like my pinnice to the golden shores:
Hence flaues, avant. Vanish like hailftones, goe.
Falstaffe will learne the humor of this age,
French thrift you rogue, my selfe and scirted Page.

Exit Falstaffe and the Boy.

Pif. And art thou gone? Teafter Ile haue in pouch

When thou shalt want, bafe Phrygian Turke,

Nym. I haue operations in my head, which are humors of

reuenge,

Pif. Wilt thou reuenge?

Nym. By welkin and her fairies.

Pif. By wit, or fword?

Nym. With both the humors I will difclofe this loue to Page. Ile poses him with iallowes,

And theres the humor of it.

Pif. And I to Foord will likewise tell

How Falftaffe varlet vilde,

Would haue her loue, his doue would proue,

And eke his bed defile.

Nym. Let's about it then.

Pif. Ile fecond thee: fir corporall Nym troope on.

Enter Miftreffe Quickly, and Simple.

Quic. M. Slender is your masters name fay you?

Sim. I indeed that is his name.

Exit omnes.

Quick. How fay you. I take it he is fomewhat a weakly

man:

And he has as it were a whay coloured beard.

Sim. Indeed my mafters beard is kane coloured.
Quic. Kane colour, you fay well.

And is this letter from fir Yon, about miftris Anne,
Is it not?

Sim. I indeed is it.

Quic. So, and your master would haue me as it were to fpeake to miftris Anne concerning him: I promise you my master hath a great affectioned minde to mistresse Anne himfelfe. And if he should know that I fhould as they say, giue my verdit for any one but himselfe, I should heare of it throughly: for I tell you friend, he puts all his priuities in me.

Sim. I by my faith, you are a good stay to him. Quic. Am I? I if you knew all you'd fay fo: Washing, brewing, baking, al goes throgh my hands, Or else it would be but a woe house.

Sim. I befhrew me, one woman to do all this, Is very painfull.

Quick. Are you aduis'd of that? I, I warrant you,
Take all, and pay all, all goe through my hands,
And he is fuch an honeft man, if he fhould chance

To come and finde a man heere, we should
Haue no hoe with him. Hee's a parlous man.

Sim. Is he indeed?

Quic. Is he, quoth you? God keepe him abroad: Lord bleffe me, who knocks there?

For

For Gods fake step into the counting-house,

While I goe fee who's at the doore.

What John Rugby, Iohn,

Are you come fir, already?

He fteps into the counting-house.

She opens the doore

Doct. I be-gar I be forget mine oyntment,

Where be John Rugby?

Doct. I you be Iohn Riugby, and you be lacke Rugby,
Goe run vp met your heeles, and bring away
De oyntment in the vindoe present :

Make hafte John Rugby. OI am almost forgot
My fimples in a box in de counting-house:
O Iefbu vat be here, a deuella, a deuella?
My rapier John Rugby; vat be you, vat make
You in my counting-house?

I tincke you be a teefe.

Quick, Lefbu bleffe me, we are all vndone.
Sim. O lord fir no: I am no theefe,

I am a feruingman.

My name is John Simple, I brought a letter fir
From M. Slender, about miftris Anne Page

Sir: indeed that is my comming.

Doct. I be gar is dat all? John Rugby giue a ma pen an incke: tarche vn pettit tarche a little.

Sim. O God what a furious man is this?

Quick. Nay it is well he is no worse :

I am glad he is fo quiet.

The Doctor writes.

Doc. Here, giue that fame to fir Hu, it ber ve chalenge Be-gar tell him I will cut his nafe, will you?