Eva. Shew me now, William, fome Declenfions of

Pronouns.

Will. Forfooth, I have forgot.

your

Eva. It is Qui, que, quod; if you forget your Quies, your Ques, and your Quods, you must be preeches: Go your ways and play, go.

Mrs. Page. He is a better Scholar than I thought he was. Eva. He is a good fprag Memory. Farewel, Mrs. Page. Mrs. Page. Adieu, good Sir Hugh.

Get you home, Boy. Come we stay too long.

[Exeunt.

Fal. Miftrefs Ford, your Sorrow hath eaten up my Suffe rance; I fee you are obfequious in your Love, and I profess Requital to a hairs breath, not only, Mistress Ford, in the fimple Office of Love, but in all the Accouftrement, Complement, and Ceremony of it. But are you sure of your Husband now?

Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, fweet Sir John.

Mrs. Page, [within.] What hoa, Goffip Ford! what hoa! Mrs. Ford. Step into th' Chamber, Sir John. [Ex. Falstaff. Enter Miftrefs Page.

Mrs. Page. How now, fweet Heart, who's at home befides your felf?

Mrs. Ford. Why none but mine own People.

Mrs. Page. Indeed?

Mrs. Ford. No certainly.

Speak louder.

Mrs. Page. Truly, I am fo glad you have no body here. Mrs. Ford. Why?

Mrs. Page. Why Woman, your Husband is in his old Lines again; he fo takes on yonder with my Husband, fo rails against all married Mankind, fo curfes all Eve's Daughters, of what Complexion foever, and fo buffets himself on the Fore-head, crying peer-out, peer-out, that any Madness I ever yet beheld feem'd but Tamenefs, Civility and Patience to this his Diftemper he is in now; I am glad the fat Knight is not here.

Mrs. Ford. Why does he talk of him?

Mrs. Page

Mrs. Page. Of none but him, and fwears he was carry'd out, the last time he fearch'd for him, in a Basket; protefts to my Husband he is now here, and hath drawn him and the reft of their Company from their Sport, to make another Experiment of his Sufpicion, but I am glad the Knight is not here; now he fhall fee his own Foolery. Mrs. Ford. How near is he, Mistress Page?

Mrs. Page. Hard by, at Streets end, he will be here anon. Mrs. Ford. I am undone, the Knight is here.

Mrs. Page. Why then you are utterly fham'd, and he's but a dead Man. What a Woman are you? Away with him, away with him, better Shame than Murther.

Mrs. Ford. Which way fhould he go? How fhould I bestow him? Shall I put him into the Basket again? Enter Falftaff.

Fal. No, I'll come no more i'th Basket: May I not go out e'er he come?

Mrs. Page. Alas, three of Mafter Ford's Brothers watch the Door with Pistols, that none fhould iffue out, otherwise you might flip away e'er he came: But what make you here? Fal. What fhall I do? I'll creep up into the Chimney. Mrs. Ford. There they always ufe to discharge their Birding-Pieces; creep into the Kill-Hole.

Fal. Where is it?

Mrs. Ford. He will feek there, on my Word: Neither Prefs, Coffer, Cheft, Trunk, Well, Vault, but he hath an Abstract for the remembrance of fuch Places, and goes to them by his Note; there is no hiding you in the House. Fal. I'll go out then.

Mrs. Ford. If you go out in your own Semblance, you die, Sir John, unless you go out difguis'd. How might we disguise him?

Mrs. Page. Alafs-the-Day; I know not, there is no Woman's Gown big enough for him, otherwife he might put on a Hat, a Muffler, and a Kercheif, and fo efcape.

Fal. Good Hearts, devife fomething; any Extremity, rather than Mischief.

Mrs. Ford. My Maid's Aunt, the fat Woman of Brainford, has a Gown above.

Mrs. Page. On my Word it will ferve him, fhe's as big as he is; and there's her thrumb Hat, and her Muffler too. Run up. Sir John. Mrs. Ford

Mrs. Ford. Go, go, fweet Sir John, Mistress Page and I will look fome Linnen for your Head.

Mrs. Page. Quick, quick, we'll come dress you ftraight; put on the Gown the while. Exit Falstaff.

Mrs. Ford. I would my Husband would meet him in this Shape, he cannot abide the old Woman of Brainford; he fwears he's a Witch, forbad her my House, and hath threatned to beat her.

Mrs. Page. Heav'n 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 Sadnefs is he, and talks of the Basket too, how foever 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 laft time.

Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here prefently; let's go drefs him like the Witch of Brainford.

Mrs. Ford. I'll first direct my Men, what they fhall do with the Basket; go up, I'll bring Linnen for him straight. Mrs. Page. Hang him, difhoneft Varlet,

We cannot mifufe him enough.

We'll leave a Proof, by that which we will do,
Wives may be merry, and yet honeft too.

We do not act, that often jeft and laugh:

'Tis old, but true, Still Swine eats all the Draugh.

Mrs. Ford. Go Sirs, take the Basket again on your Shoulders; your Mafter is hard at door; if he bid you fet it down, obey him: Quickly, dispatch.

Enter Servants with the Basket.

1 Serv. Come, come, take up.

2 Serv. Pray Heav'n it be not full of the Knight again. I Serv. I hope not. I had as lief bear fo much Lead. Enter Ford, Shallow, Page, Caius and Evans.

Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, Mafter Page, have you any. way then to unfool me again? Set down the Basket, Villain; fomebody call my Wife: Youth in a Basket. Oh you panderly Rafcals, there's a Knot, a Gang, a Pack, a Confpiracy against me; now thall the Devil be fham'd. What, I fay, come, come forth, behold what honeft Cloaths you fend forth to bleaching.

Page.

Page. Why, this paffes Mr. Ford; you are not to go loofe nay longer, you must be pinnion'd.

Eva. Why, this is Lunaticks; this is mad as a mad Dog,
Shal. Indeed, Mr. Ford, this is not well indeed.

Ford. So fay I too, Sir. Come hither Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford, the honeft Woman, the modeft Wife, the virtuous Creature, that hath the jealous Fool to her Husband: I fufpect without Caufe, Miftrefs, do I?

Mrs. Ford. Heav'n be my Witnefs you do, if you fufpect me in any Dishonesty.

Ford. Well faid, Brazen-face, hold it out: Come forth, Sirrah. [Pulls the Cloaths out of the Basket.

Page. This paffes.

Mrs. Ford. Are you not afham'd, let the Cloaths alone. Ford. I fhall find you anon.

Eva. 'Tis unreafonable; will you take up your Wife's Cloaths? Come away.

Ford. Empty the Basket, I fay.
Mrs. Ford. Why Man, why?

Ford. Mafter Page, as I am a Man, there was one convey'd out of my Houfe Yesterday in this Basket; why may not he be there again? In my Houfe I am fure he is; my Intelligence is true, my Jealoufie is reasonable, pluck me out all the Linnen.

Mrs. Ford. If you find a Man there, he fhall die à Flea's death.

Page. Here's no Man.

Shal. By my Fidelity this is not not well, Mr. Ford; this wrongs you.

Eva. Mr. Ford, you must pray, and not follow the Imaginations of your own Heart; this is Jealoufies.

Ford. Well, he's not here I feek for.

Page. No, nor no where else but in your Brain.

Ford. Help to fearch my Houfe this one time; if I find not what I feek, fhew no colour for my Extremity; let me for ever be your Table-sport; let them fay of me, As jealous as Ford, that fearched a hollow Wall-nut for his Wives Lemman. Satisfie me once more, once more fearch with me.

Mrs. Ford. What hoa, Miftrefs Page! come you and the old Woman down; my Husband will come into the Chamber.

Ford.

Ford. Old Woman! What old Woman's that?

Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my Maid's Aunt of Brainford, Ford. A Witch, a Quean, an old cozening Quean; have I not forbid her my Houfe? She comes of Errands, does fhe? We are fimple Men, we do not know what's brought to pafs under the Profeffion of Fortune-telling. She works by Charms, by Spells, by th' Figure, and fuch dawbry as this is, beyond our Element; we know nothing. Come down, you Witch, you Hag you, come down, I say.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, good fweet Husband; good Gentlemen, let him not ftrike the old Woman.

Enter Falftaff in Womens Cloaths. Mrs. Page. Come Mother Prat, come, give me your Hand.

Ford. I'll Prat her. Out of my Door you Witch, [Beats him.] you Hag, you Baggage, you Poulcat, you Runnion, out, out; I'll Conjure you, I'll Fortune-tell you. [Exit Fal.

Mrs. Page. Are you not afham'd?

I think you have kill'd 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 o'man is a Witch indeed: I like not when a o'man has a great Peard; I spy a great Peard under his Muffler.

Ford. Will you follow, Gentlemen? I beseech you follow; fee but the Iffue of my Jealoufie; if I cry out thus upon no Trial, never truft me when I open again.

Page. Let's obey his Humour a little further: Come, Gentlemen.

[Exeunt.

Mrs, Page. Truft me he beat him most pitifully. Mrs. Ford. Nay, by th' Mass that he did not; he beat him moft unpitifully, methought.

Mrs. Page. I'll have the Cudgel hallow'd, and hung o'er the Altar, it hath done meritorious Service.

Mrs. Ford. What think you? May we, with the warrant of Woman-hood, and the witnefs of a good Confcience, purfue him with any further Revenge?

Mrs. Page. The Spirit of Wantonnefs is fure fcar'd out of him; if the Devil have him not in Fee-fimple, with Fine VOL. I.

N

and