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Gods have hot Backs, what fhall poor Men do? For me, I am here a Windfor Stag, and the fatteft I think, i'th' Forreft. Send me a cool Rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to pifs my Tallow? Who comes here? my Doe? Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page.

Mrs. Ford. Sir John? Art thou there, my Deer? My Male-Deer?

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Fal. My Doe with the black Scut? Let the Sky rain Potatoes, let it thunder to the Tune of Green-Sleeves, hail kiffing-Comfits, and fnow Eringoes, let there come a Tempeft of Provocation, I will fhelter me here.

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Mrs. Ford. Miftrefs Page is come with me, fweet Heart. Fal Divide me like a brib'd Buck, each a Haunch, will keep my Sides to my felf, my Shoulders for the Fellow of this Walk, and my Horns I bequeath your Husbands. Am I a Woodman, ha? Speak I like the Herne the Hunter? Why, now is Cupid a Child of Confcience, he makes Reftitution. As I am a true Spirit, welcome. [Noife within. Mrs. Page. Alas! what Noife?

Mrs. Ford. Heav'n forgive our Sins.

Fal. What should this be?

Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Page. Away, away.[The Women run out. Fal. I think the Devil will not have me damn'd, Left the Qil that is in me fhould fet Hell on Fire; He would never elfe cross me thus.

Enter Fairies.

Quic. Fairies, black, gray, green, and white, You Moon-fhine Revellers, and Shades of Night, You Orphan-Heirs of fixed Deftiny,

Attend your Office, and your Quality.

Crier Hobgoblin, make the Fairy O-yes.

Pift. Elves, lift your Names; filence, you airy Toys, Cricket, to Windfor Chimneys fhalt thou leap:

Where Fires thou find ft unrak'd, and Hearths unfwept,
There pinch the Maids as blew as Bilbery.
Our radiant Queen hates Sluts and Sluttery..

Fal. They are Fairies, he that fpeaks to them fhall die. I'll wink and couch; no Man their Works muft eye.

[Lyes down upon his Face. Eva. Where's Bede? Go you, and where you find a Maid That e'er fhe fleep has thrice her Prayers faid,

Raife up the Organs of her Fantafie,

Sleep fhe as found as careless Infancy;

But thofe that fleep and think not on their Sins,

Pinch them, Arms, Legs, Backs, Shoulders, Sides and Shins.
Onic. About, about;

Search Windfor Caftle, Elves, within and out.
Strew good Luck, Ouphes, on every facred Room,
That it may ftand 'till the perpetual Doom,
In State as wholefom, as in State 'tis fit,.
Worthy the Owner, and the Owner it.
The feveral Chairs of Order look you fcour,
With Juice of Balm and ev'ry precious Flow'r;
Each fair Inftalment, Coat, and fev'ral Crest,
With loyal Blazon evermore be blest.
And nightly-medow-Fairies, look you fing
Like to the Garter-compass in a Ring:
Th' Expreffure that it bears, Green let it be,
More fertile fresh than all the Field to fee;
And, Hony Soit Qui Mal-y-Penfe write

In Emrold-tuffs, Flowers, purple, blue and white,
Like Saphire-pearl, and rich Embroidery,
Buckled below fair Knight-hoods bending Knee;
Fairies use Flow'rs for their Charactery.
Away, difperfe; but 'till 'tis one a Clock
Our Dance of Custom round about the Oak
Of Herne the Hunter, let us not forget.

Eva. Pray you lock Hand in Hand, your felves in order fet; And twenty Glow-worms fhall our Lant-horns be

To guide our Measure round about the Tree.

But ftay, I fmell a Man of middle Earth.

Fal. Heav'ns defend me from that Welch Fairy,

Left he transform me to a piece of Cheese.

Pift. Vild Worm, thou waft o'er-look'd even in thy Birth.

Quic. With Trial-fire touch his Finger end;

If he be Chafte, the Flame will back defcend
And turn him to no Pain; but if he start,

It is the Flesh of a corrupted Heart.

Pift. A Trial, come.

[They burn him with their Tapers, and pinch him. Eva. Come, will this Wood take fire?

Fal,

Fal. Oh, oh, oh.

Quic. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in Defire;
About him, Fairies, fing a fcornful Rhime,
And as you trip, ftill pinch him to your time.

The Song.

Fie on finful Phantafie: Fie on Luft and Luxury:
Luft is but a bloody Fire, kindled with unchafte Defire.
Fed in Heart whofe Flumes afpire,

As Thoughts do blow them higher and higher. Pinch him, Fairies, mutually; pinch him for his Villany : Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, 'Till Candles, and Star-light, and Moon-fhine be out. [He offers to run out.

Enter Page, Ford, &c. They lay hold on him. Page. Nay, do not fly, I think I have watcht you now; Will none but Herne the Hunter ferve your turn?

Mrs. Page. I pray you come, hold up the Jeft no higher. Now, good Sir John, how like you Windfor Wives? See you thefe Husbands? Do not these fair Oaks Become the Foreft better than the Town?

Ford. Now, Sir, who's a Cuckold now?

Mr. Broom, Falstaff's a Knave, a cuckoldy Knave,
Here are his Horns, Mafter Broom;

And, Master Broom, he hath enjoy'd nothing of Ford

But his Buck-basket, his Cudgel, and twenty Pounds of Mony, which must be paid to Mr. Broom; his Horses are arrested for it, Mr. Broom.

Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill Luck; we could never meet. I will never take you for my Love again, but I will always count you my Deer.

Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an Afs.
Ford. Ay, and an Ox to: Both the Proofs are extant.
Fal. And thefe are not Fairies:

I was three or four times in the Thought they were not Fairies, and yet the guiltinefs of my Mind, the fudden furprize of my Powers, drove the grofnefs of the Foppery into a receiv'd Belief, in defpight of the Teeth of all Rhime and Reason, that they were Fairies, See now how Wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent, when 'tis upon ill Imployment.

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Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your Defires, and Fairies will not pinfe you.

Ford. Well faid, Fairy Hugh.

Eva. And leave you your Jealouzies too, I pray you. Ford. I will never mistruft my Wife again, 'till thou art able to woo her in good English.

Fal. Have I laid my Brain in the Sun and dry'd it, that it wants Matter to prevent fo grofs o'er-reaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welch Goat too? Shall I have a Coxcomb of Frize? 'Tis time I were choak'd with a piece of toafted Cheese.

Eva. Seefe is not good to give Putter; your Pelly is all

Putter.

Fal. Seefe and Putter? Have I liv'd to ftand at the taunt of one that makes Fritters of English? This is enough to be the decay of Luft and late-walking through the Realm.

Mrs. Page. Why Sir John, do you think, though we would have thruft Virtue out of our Hearts by the Head and Shoulders, and have given our felves without scruple to Hell, that ever the Devil could have made you our Delight.

Ford. What, a Hodge-pudding? A Bag of Flax?
Mrs. Page. A puft Man?

Page. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable Entrails?
Ford. And one that is as flanderous as Satan?

Page. And as poor as Job?

Ford. And as wicked as his Wife?

Eva. And given to Fornications, and to Taverns, and Sack, and Wine, and Metheglin, and to Drinkings, and Swearings, and Staring? Pribbles and prabbles?

Fal. Well, I am your Theme; you have the start of me, I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welch Flannel, Ignorance it felf is a Plummet o'er me, ufe me as you will.

Ford. Marry Sir, we'll bring you to Windfor to one Mr. Broom, that you have cozen'd of Mony, to whom you fhould have been a Pander: Over and above that you have fuffer'd, I think, to repay that Mony will be a biting AfAlicon.

Page. Yet be cheerful, Knight, thou shalt eat à Poffet to Night at my Houfe, where I will defire thee to laugh at

my

my Wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her Mr. Slender hath marry'd her Daughter.

Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that;

If Anne Page be my Daughter, fhe is, by this, Doctor Cains's Wife.

Enter Slender.

Slen. What hoe! hoe! Father Page!

Page. Son? How now? How now Son,

Have you difpatch'd?

Slen. Difpatch'd? I'll make the beft in Gloucester fhire know on't; would I were hang'd-la, else.

iPage. Of what, Son?

Slen. I came yonder at Eaton to marry Mistress Anne Page, and he's a great lubberly Boy. If it had not been i'th' Church, I would have fwing'd him, or he should have fwing'd me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never ftir, and 'tis a Post-master's Boy.

Page. Upon my Life then you took the wrong.

Slen. What need you tell me that? I think fo, when I took a Boy for a Girl: If I had been marry'd to him, for all he was in Woman's Apparel, I would not have had him.

Page. Why, this is your own Folly.

Did not I tell you how you should know my Daughter
By her Garments?

Slen. I went to her in green and cry'd Mum, and she cry'd Budget, as Anne and I had appointed, and yet it was not Anne, but a Post-master's Boy.

Mrs. Page. Good George be not angry; I knew of your purpose, turn'd my Daughter into white, and indeed the is now with the Doctor at the Deanry, and there marry'd. Enter Caius.

Caius. Ver is Miftrefs Page; by gar I am cozon'd, I ha' marry'd one Garfoon, a Boe; oon Pefant, by gar. A Boy, it is not Anne Page, by gar, I am cozon'd.

Mrs. Page. Why? Did you take her in white?

Cains. Ay be gar, and 'tis a Boy; be gar, I'll raife all Windfor.

Ford. This is ftrange; who hath got the right Anne? Page. My Heart mifgives me; here comes Mr. Fenton. How now Mr. Fenton?

Anne.

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