Now, good fir John, how like you Windfor wives? * See you these, hufband? do not these fair oaks Become the foreft better than the town? Ford. Now, fir, who's a cuckold now?-Mafter Brook, Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldy knave; here are his horns, master Brook And, mafter Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck-bafket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money; which must be paid too, mas ter Brook; his horfes are arrested for it, master Brook. 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 too; both the proofs are extant. Fal. And these 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 grofinefs 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 Jacka-lent, when 'tis upon ill employment! Eva. Sir John Falftaff, ferve Got, and leave your defires, and fairies will not pinfe you. Ford. Well faid, fairy Hugh. Eva. And leave your jealoufies also, I pray you. Ford. I will never diftruft my wife again, till thou art able to woo her in good English. Fal. Have I lay'd my brain in the fun, and dried it, that it wants matter to prevent fo grofs o'er-reaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welch goat too? fhall I have See you thefe, bufband? do not thefe fair oaks]-This pair of horns in Faiftaff's hand-do not these fair branches-fair yoaks. ⚫ paid to. an ox too ;]-having been just now roasted. W 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 stand in 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, fir John, do you think, though we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves without fcruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our delight? Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax? Mrs. Page. A puff'd 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 facks, and wines, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and fwearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles? Fal. Well, I am your theme; you have the ftart of me; I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welch flannel; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me: use me as you will. Ford. Marry, fir, we'll bring you to Windfor, to one master Brook, that you cozen'd of money, to whom you should have been a pandar: over and above that you have W a coxcomb of frize?]-a fool's cap made of it, and clapt Welch coxcomb. Wales was famous for frize and flannel. bodge-pudding?]-a pudding made of the great gut of a bog. Y Welch flannel;]-alluding to Evans's usual dress. za plummet o'er me]-I'm funk even below ignorance itfelf-is a pla net-I'm under its control-is a plume o'er-foars above me. "And heavy ignorance aloft to fly." POEMS, p. 644. fuffer'd, fuffer'd, I think, to repay that money will be a biting affliction. Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make amends: Forgive that fum, and fo we'll all be friends. Ford. Well, here's my hand, all's forgiven at last. Page. Yet be cheerful, knight: thou fhalt eat a poffet to-night at my house; where I will defire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee: Tell her, master Slender hath married her daughter. Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that; if Anne Page be my daughter, fhe is, by this, doctor Caius' wife. Enter Slender. Slen. Whoo, ho! ho! father Page! [Afide. Page. Son! how now? how now, fon? have you dif patch'd? Slen. Difpatch'd!-I'll make the best in Gloceftershire know on't; would I were hang'd, la, elfe. Page. Of what, fon? Slen. I came yonder at Eaton to marry mistress Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy: If it had not been i' the 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 married 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 fhould know my daughter by her garments? Slen. I went to her in white, 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. Eva. Jefhu! Master Slender, cannot you fee but mafry boys? Page. O, I am vex'd at heart; What fhall I do? Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: I knew of your purpose; turn'd my daughter into green; and, indeed, fhe is now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married. Enter Caius. Caius. Vere is mistress Page? By gar, Í am cozen'd; İ ha' married un garçon, a boy; un paisan, by gar, a boy; it is not Anne Page: by gar, I am cozen'd. Mrs. Page. Why, did you not take her in green? Caius. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy: be gar, I'll raise all Windfor. [Exit Gaius. Ford. This is ftrange: Who hath got the right Anne? Page. My heart mifgives me: Here comes mafter Fenton. Enter Fenton, and Anne Page. How now, mafter Fenton? Anne. Pardon, good father! good my mother, pardon! Page. Now, mistress? how chance you went not with mafter Slender ? Mrs. Page. Why went you not with mafter doctor, maid? Fent. You do amaze her; Hear the truth of it. You would have married her most shamefully, Where there was no proportion held in love. The truth is, She and I, long fince contracted, Are now fo fure, that nothing can dissolve us. The offence is holy, that she hath committed: And this deceit lofes the name of craft, Of difobedience, or unduteous title; Since therein fhe doth evitate and fhun A thousand irreligious curfed hours, Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath 'glanc'd. [Afide. Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy! What cannot be efchew'd, must be embrac'd. b Fal. When night-dogs run, all forts of deer are chac'd. Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your wedding. [Afide to Fenton. Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further:Master Fenton, Heaven give you many, many merry days! Ford. Let it be fo:-Sir John, To master Brook you yet shall hold your word; a glanc'd.]-reverted upon yourselves. [Exeunt omnes. When night-dogs run, all forts of deer are chac'd.]-and one of them, Fenton, hath caught the fawn. |