Eva. It is ki, ke, cod; if you forget your kies, your kas, and your cods, 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. Farewell, mistress Page.

Mrs. Page. Adieu, good fir Hugh. Get you home, boy.-Còme, we stay too long.

SCENE II.

Ford's Houfe.

Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Ford.

[Exeunt.

Fal. Miftrefs Ford, your forrow hath eaten up my fufferance: 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 accoutrement, complement, and ceremony of it. But are you fure of your husband now?

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

Mrs. Page. [Within.] What hoa, goffip Ford! what

hoa!

Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, fir John.

Enter Mrs. Page.

[Exit Falstaff.

Mrs. Page. How now, fweetheart? who's at home be

fides yourself?

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

mbe preeches.]-breeched-flogged.
"prag]-trong-vigorous-fprightly.

Mrs.

Mrs. Ford. No, certainly-Speak louder.

[Afide.

Mrs. Page. Truly, I am fo glad you have nobody 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 himself on the forehead, crying, 'Peer-out, peer-out! that any madness, I ever yet beheld, feem'd but tameness, civility, and patience, to this distemper 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 carried out, the last time he search'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 sport, 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 street 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? Shall I put him into the basket again?

Enter Falstaff.

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

• old lunes again: he fo takes on]-mad fits-he fo rages. "Thefe dangerous unfafe lunes o' the king."

WINTER'S TALE, A& II, S. 2. Paul.

Peer-out, peer-out !]-As children cry to the fnail; "appear horns!"

Mrs.

Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's brothers watch the door with pistols, that none fhould iffue out; otherwife you might flip away ere, he came.-But what make you here?

Fal. What fhall I do? I'll creep up into the chimney. Mrs. Ford. There they always use to discharge their birding-pieces: creep into the kiln-hole.

Fal. Where is it?

'Mrs. Page. He will feek there on my word. Neither prefs, coffer, cheft, trunk, well, vault, but he hath fan 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 femblance, you die, fir John; unless you go out disguis'd-How might we disguise him?

Mrs. Page. Alas 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 kerchief, and fo escape. Fal. Good hearts, devife fomething: any extremity, rather than a mischief.

Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brentford, has a gown above.

Mrs. Page. On my word, it will ferve him; fhe's as big as he is and there's her thrum hat, and her muffler too: Run up, fir John.

Mrs. Ford. Go, go, fweet fir John: mistress Page, and I, will look fome linen for your head.

Mrs. Page. Quick, quick; we'll come dress you straight: put on the gown the while. Exit Falstaff.

I what make you here ?]—what do you do, what's your business?
Now, Sir, what make you bere?"

66

Mrs. Ford.

As You LIKE IT, A&t I, S. I. Oli.

f an abftract]-a written lift, a brief defcription.

extremity,]-shift, expedient.

t

muffer a cover for the face.

Mrs. Ford.

Mrs. Ford. I would, my husband would meet him in this fhape he cannot abide the old woman of Brentford; he fwears, she's a witch; forbade her my house, and hath threatened to beat her.

Mrs. Page. Heaven 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 fadnefs, is he; and talks of the basket too, howfoever 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 last time.

Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here prefently: let's go drefs him like the witch of Brentford.

Mrs. Ford. I'll firft direct my men what they shall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen for him straight. Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot mifufe him enough.

We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do,

Wives may be merry, and yet honest too:

We do not act, that often jeft and laugh;

'Tis old but true, Still fwine eat all the draugh.

Mrs. Ford. Go, firs, take the basket again on your you fhoulders; your master is hard at door; if he bid fet it down, obey him: quickly, dispatch.

[Exeunt Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford.

Enter Servants with the basket.

1 Serv. Come, come, take up.

2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of the knight again. 1 Serv. I hope not; I had as lief bear fo much lead.

Enter Ford, Shallow, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, mafter Page, have you any way then to unfool me again?-Set down the basket, villain :

villain :-Somebody call my wife :-"You youth in a basket!-Oh, you panderly rafcals! there's a knot, a gang, a pack, a confpiracy, against me: Now fhall the devil be fham'd. What! wife, I fay! come, come forth; behold what honeft cloaths you fend forth to bleaching.

W

Page. Why, this paffes! Master Ford, you are not to go loose any longer; you must be pinion'd.

Eva. Why, this is lunatics! this is mad as a mad dog! Shal. Indeed, mafter Ford, this is not well; indeed.

Enter Mrs. Ford.

Ford. So fay I too, fir.-Come hither, mistress Ford ;mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous fool to her husband! -I fufpect without cause, mistress, do I?

Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if pect me in any dishonesty.

you

fuf

Ford. Well faid, brazen-face; hold it out.-Come forth, firrah. [Pulls the cloaths out of the basket.

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

Eva. 'Tis unreasonable! Will you take up your wife's

cloaths? come away.

Ford. Empty the basket, I say.
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 jealoufy is reasonable: Pluck me out all the linen.

"Youth in-You there-You i' the.

this paffes !]-is beyond all bounds, or bearing.

* This paffes.]-is a most extraordinary piece of conduct.

Mrs.