fake you fuffer'd all this. My fuit is then defperate; you'll

undertake her no more?

Fal. Mafter Brook, I will be thrown into Etna as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her husband is this morning gone a birding; I have receiv'd from her another embaffie of meeting; 'twixt eight and nine is the hour, mafter Brook.

Ford. 'Tis paft eight already, Sir.

Fal. Is it? I will then address me to my appointment. Come to me at your convenient leifure, and you fhall know how I fpeed; and the conclufion fhall be crown'd with your enjoying her; adieu, you shall have her, master Brook; mafter Brook, you fhall cuckold Ford. [Exit.

Ford. Hum! ha! is this a vifion? is this a dream? do I fleep? mafter Ford, awake; awake, mafter Ford; there's a hole made in your best coat, master Ford; this 'tis to be married! this 'tis to have linnen and buckbaskets! well, I will proclaim my felf what I am; I will now take the leacher; he is at my houfe; he cannot 'fcape me; 'tis impoffible he fhould; he cannot creep into a half-penny purfe, nor into a pepper-box. But left the devil that guides him fhould aid him, I will fearch impoffible places; tho' what I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not fhall not make me tame: if I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb go with me, I'll be horn-mad.

[Exit.

ACT

A C T IV. SCENE I

ACT

PAGE'S Houfe.

ΕΙ

Enter Miftrefs Page, Mistress Quickly, and William.

Mrs. PAGE.

S he at Mr. Ford's already, think'st thou?

Is

Quick. Sure he is by this, or will be presently; but truly he is very courageous mad about his throwing into the water; Mrs. Ford defires you to come fuddenly.

Mrs. Page. I'll be with her by and by; I'll but bring my young man here to school. Look where his master comes; 'tis a playing-day I fee. How now, Sir Hugh, no school to-day?

Enter Evans.

Eva. No; mafter Slender is let the boys leave to play. Quic. Bleffing of his heart!

Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband fays my fon profits nothing in the world at his book; I pray you, ask him fome questions in his accidence.

Eva. Come hither, William, hold up your head,

come.

Mrs. Page. Come on, Sirrah, hold up your head; anfwer your master, be not afraid.

Eva. William, how many numbers is in nouns?

Will. Two.

Quic. Truly, I thought there had been one number more, because they fay, odd's nowns.

Eva. Peace your tatlings. What is Fair, William? Will, Pulcher.

Quic

Quic. Poulcats? there are fairer things than poulcats, fure.

Eva. You are a very fimplicity 'oman; I pray you, peace. What is Lapis, William?

Will. A ftone.

Eva. And what is a ftone, William?

Will. A pebble.

Eva. No, it is Lapis: I pray you remember in your prain.

Will. Lapis.

Eva. That is a good William: what is he, William, that does lend articles?

Will. Articles are borrow'd of the pronoun, and be thus declin'd, fingulariter nominativo, bic, hæc, boc.

Eva. Nominativo, big, bag, bog; pray you, mark: genitivo, bujus: well, what is your accufative cafe? Will. Accufative, binc.

Ea. I pray you, have your remembrance, child; accufative, bung, bang, bog.

Quic. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant you. Eva. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the focative cafe, William?

Will. O, vocativo, O.

Eva. Remember, William, focative is caret.

Quic. And that's a good root.

Eva. 'Oman, forbear.

Mrs. Page. Peace.

Eva. What is your genitive cafe plural, William?
Will. Genitive cafe?

Eva. Ay.

Will. Genitive, borum, barum, horum.

Quic. 'Vengeance of Giney's cafe; fie on her! never name her, child, if she be a whore.

Eva. For fhame, 'oman.

Quic. You do ill to teach the child fuch words: he teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do faft enough of themselves; and to call horum; fie upon you! Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunacies! haft thou no under

ftandings

ftandings for thy cafes, and the numbers of the genders? thou art as foolish chriftian creatures as I would defire. Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace.

Eva. Shew me now, William, fome declenfions of your

pronouns.

Will. Forfooth, I have forgot.

Eva. It is qui, quæ, 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 fcholar than I thought he

was.

Eva. He is a good fprag memory. Farewel, Mrs. Pages Mrs. Page. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long.

[Exeunt.

Enter Falstaff and Miftrefs Ford.

Fal. MIftrefs Ford, your forrow hath eaten up my

fuf

ferance, I fee you are obfequious in your love, and I profefs requital to a hair's breadth, not only, mistress Ford, in the fimple office of love, but in all the accouftrement, complement, and ceremony of it. But are you fure 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.

Enter Miftrefs Page.

[Exit Falstaff.

Mrs. Page. How now, fweet heart, who's at home be

fides your felf?

Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people.
Mrs. Page. Indeed?

Mrs.

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 lunes 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 himfelf on the fore-head, crying peer-out, peer-out, that any madness I ever yet beheld feem'd but tameness, civility and patience to this diftemper he is in now; I am glad the fat Knight is not here,

Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him?

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 rest of their company from their fport, to make another experiment of his fufpicion; 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 ftreet's end, he will be here

anon.

Mrs Ford. I am undone, the Knight is here.

Mrs. Page. Why then thou art utterly fham'd, and he's but a dead man. What a woman are you? away with him, away with him? better fhame than murther.

Mrs. Ford. Which way fhould he go? how fhould I bestow him? fhall I put him into the basket again?

Fal. No, I'll come no more i' th' basket: may I not go out ere he come?

Mrs. Page. Alas, alas, three of mafter Ford's brothers watch the door with piftols, that none fhould iffue out, otherwise you might flip ere he came : but what make you here?

Fal