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Simp. Yonder he is coming, this way, Sir Hugh. Eva. He's welcome. By fhallow rivers, to whofe falls

Heav'n profper the right! what weapons is he?

Simp. No weapons, Sir; there comes my mafter, Mr. Shallow, and another gentleman from Frogmore, over the stile, this way.

Eva. Pray you, give me my gown, or else keep it in your arms.

The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd.

If that the World and Love were young,
And Truth in every Shepherd's Tongue;
These pretty Pleafures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy Love.
Time drives the Flocks from Field to Fold,
When Rivers rage, and Rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And all complain of Cares to come:
The Flowers do fade, and wanton Fields
To wayward Winter reckoning yields.
A honey Tongue, a Heart of Gall,
Is Fancy's Spring, but Sorrow's Fall.
Thy Gowns, thy Shoes, thy Bed of Rofes,
Thy Cap, thy Girdle, and thy Pofies:
Some break, fome wither, fome forgotten,
In Folly ripe, in Reason rotten.
Thy Belt of Straw and Ivie Buds,
Thy Coral Clafps and Amber Studs,
All these in me no means can move,
To come to thee, and be thy Love.
But could Youth laft, and Love still breed,
Had Joys no date, and Age no need ;
Then thefe Delights my Mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy Love.

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Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender.

Shal. How now, master Parfon? good morrow, good Sir Hugh. Keep a gamefter from the dice, and a good ftudent from his book, and it is wonderful.

Slen. Ah, fweet Anne Page!

Page. Save you, good Sir Hugh.

Eva. 'Plefs you from his mercy-fake, all of you. Shal. What? the fword and the word? do you study them both, Mr. Parfon?

Page. And youthful ftill, in your doublet and hofe, this raw-rheumatick day?

Eva. There is reasons and causes for it.

Page. We are come to you, to do a good office, Mr. Parfon.

Eva. Ferry well: what is it?

Page. Yonder is a moft reverend gentleman, who, belike, having receiv'd wrong by fome perfon, is at moft odds with his own gravity and patience, that ever you faw.

Shal. I have liv'd fourfcore years, and upward; I never heard a man of his place, gravity and learning, fo wide of his own respect.

Eva. What is he?

Page. I think, you know him; Mr. Doctor Caius, the renowned French phyfician.

Eva. Got's will, and his paffion of my heart! I had as lief you should tell me of a mefs of porridge. Page. Why?

Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen; and he is a knave befides; a cowardly knave as you would defire to be acquainted withal.

Page. I warrant you, he's the man fhould fight with him,

Slen. O, fweet Anne Page!

SCENE

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Enter Hoft, Caius, and Rugby.

Shal. It appears fo, by his weapons: keep them afunder: here comes Doctor Caius.

Page. Nay, good Mr. Parfon, keep in your weapon. Shal. So do you, good Mr. Doctor.

Hoft. Difarm them, and let them question; let them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear wherefore vill you not meet-a me?

Eva. Pray you, ufe your patience in good time. Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.

Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stocks to other mens humours: I defire you in friendship, and will one way or other make you amends; I will knog your urinal about your knave's cogs-comb for miffing your meetings and appointments.

2

Caius. Diable! Jack Rugby, mine Hoft de Jartere, have I not stay for him, to kill him? have I not, at de place I did appoint?

Eva. As I am a chriftian's foul, how look you, this is the place appointed; I'll be judgment by mine Hoft of the Garter.

Hoft. Peace, I fay, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welch, foul-curer and body-cuter.

Caius. Ay, dat is very good, excellent.

Hoft. Peace, I fay; hear mine Höft of the Garter. Am I politick? am I fubtle? am I a Machiavel? fhall I lofe my Doctor? no; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I lofe my Parfon? my Prieft? my Sir Hugh? no; he gives me the proverbs and the no verbs. Give me thy hand, terreftrial; fo:

2 These words are added from the first edition. Mr. Pope.

Give me thy hand, celeftial; fo. Boys of art, I have deceiv'd you both: I have directed you to wrong places your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burn'd fack be the iffue. Come, lay their fwords to pawn. Follow me, lads of peace, follow, follow, follow.

Shal. Trust me, a mad hoft. Follow, gentlemen, follow.

Slen. O, fweet Anne Page?

[Exeunt Shal. Slen. Page and Hoft. Caius. Ha! do I perceive dat? have you make a-de-fot of us, ha, ha?

Eva. This is well, he has made us his vloutingftog. I defire you, that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains together to be revenge on this fame fcald-fcurvy-cogging companion, the Host of the Garter.

Caius. By gar, with all my heart; he promise to bring me where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me

too.

Eva. Well, I will fmite his noddles; pray you, follow.

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[Exeunt.

Mrs. Page. NAY, keep your way, little gal

lant; you were wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. Whether had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your master's heels?

Rob. I had rather, forfooth, go before you like a man, than follow him like a dwarf.

Mrs. Page. O, you are a flattering boy; now, I fee you'll be a Courtier.

Enter

Enter Ford.

Ford. Well met, miftrefs Page; whither go you? Mrs. Page. Truly, Sir, to fee your wife; is fhe at home?

Ford. Ay; and as idle as the may hang together, for want of company; I think, if your husbands were dead, you two would marry.

Mrs. Page. Be fure of that, two other husbands. Ford. Where had you this pretty weather-cock? Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens his name my husband had him of: what do you call your Knight's name, firrah?

is

Rob. Sir John Falstaff.

Ford. Sir John Falstaff?

Mrs. Page. He, he; I can never hit on's name; there is fuch a league between my good man and he. Is your wife at home, indeed?

Ford. Indeed, he is.

Mrs. Page. By your leave, Sir; I am fick, 'till I fee her. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Robin,

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Ford. Has Page any brains? hath he any eyes? hath he any thinking? fure, they fleep; he hath no use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty mile, as eafy as a cannon will fhoot point-blank twelve-score; he pieces out his wife's inclination; he gives her folly motion and advantage; and now fhe's going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. A man may hear this fhower fing in the wind: and Falstaff's boy with her! good plots; they are laid, and our revolted wives fhare damnation together. Well, I will take him, then torture my wife; pluck the borow'd veil of modefty from the fo feeming mistress Page, divulge Page himfelf for a fecure and wilful Acteon, and to thefe violent proceedings all my neighbours fhall

cry

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