Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people, Mrs. Ford. No, certainly-Speak louder. [Afide, here. Mrs. Ford. Why? Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes again: he fo takes on yonder with my hufband; fo rails againft all married mankind; fo curfes all Eve's daughters, of what complexion foever; and fo buffets himfelf on the forehead, crying, Peer-out, peer-out! that any madness, I ever yet beheld, feem'd but tamcnefs, 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 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 fufpicion: but I am glad the knight is not here; now he fhall fee his own foolery. Mrs. Ford. How near is he, miftrefs 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 woman are you? Away with him, away with him; better fhame than murther. lunes i. e. lunacy, frenzy. See a note on the Winter's Tale. The quarto 630, and the folio, read lines, inftead of lunes. The elder quartos his old vaine again. STEEVENS. be fo takes on -] To take on, which is now used for to grieve, seems to be used by our author for to rage. Perhaps it was applied to any paffion. JOHNSON. Peer-out,] That is, appear horns. Shakespeare is at his old lunes. JOHNSON. Mrs. Mrs. Ford. Which way fhould he go? how should I bestow him? Shall I put him into the bafket again? Enter Falstaff. Fal. No, I'll come no more i' the basket: May I not go out, ere he come? Mrs. Page. Alas, three of mafter Ford's brothers watch the door with piftols, 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 ufe to discharge their birding-pieces creep into the kiln-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 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 efcape. 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. 7 8 Mrs. an abftract- -] i. e. a lift, an inventory. STEEVENS. her thrum hat, and her mufler too:] The thrum is the end of a weaver's warp, and we may fuppofe, was used for Mrs. Ford. Go, go, fweet fir John: miflrefs Page, and I, will look fome linen for your head. Mrs. Page. Quick, quick; we'll come drefs you ftraight put on the gown the while. [Exit Falstaff. Mrs. Ford. I would, my husband would meet him in this fhape: he cannot abide the old woman of Brentford; he fwears, fhe's a witch; forbade her my house, and hath threatened to beat her. Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy hufband's cudgel; and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards! Mrs. Ford. But is my hufband coming? Mrs. Page. Ay, in good fadnefs, is he; and talks of the basket too, howfoever he hath had intelligence. Ms. 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. go Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently: let's drefs him like the witch of Brentford. Mrs. Ford. I'll first direct my men what they fhall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen for him ftraight. Mrs. Page. Hang hin, dishoneft varlet! we cannot mifufe him enough. We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do, for the purpose of making coarse hats. In the Midfummer Night's Dream: "O fates, come, come, "Cut thread and thrum." A muffler was fome part of dress that covered the face. So, in the Cobler's Prophecy, 1594 "Now is the bare-fac'd to be feen :-ftrait on her Mufier goes." Again, in Laneham's account of Queen Elizabeth's entertainment at Kenelworth castle, 1575: -his mother lent him a nu muflar for a napkin, that was tyed to hiz gyrdl for lozyng." STEEVENS. Mrs. Mrs. Ford. Go, firs, take the basket again on your fhoulders; your mafter is hard at door; if he bid you fet it down, obey him: quickly, difpatch. [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 :-Somebody call my wife :-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. 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. this paffes!] The force of the phrafe I did not understand when our former impreffion of Shakespeare was prepared; and therefore gave thefe two words as part of an imperfect fentence. One of the obfolete fenfes of the verb, to pass, is, to go beyond bounds. So, in Sir Clyomon, &c. Knight of the Golden Shield, 1599: "I have fuch a deal of fubftance here when Brian's men are flaine, "That it paffeth. Oh that I had while to stay !" Again, in the tranilation of the Menæchmi, 1595: "This passeth, that I meet with none, but thus they vexe me with strange fpeeches." STEEVENS. Enter Enter Mrs. Ford. Ford. So fay I too, fir.-Come hither, miftrefs Ford;-miftrefs 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. Heaven be my witnefs, you do, if you fufpect me in any difhonefty. Ford. Well faid, brazen-face; hold it out.-Come forth, firrah. [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 bafket; 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. Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he fhall die a flea's death. Page. Here's no man. Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, mafter Ford; this wrongs you. Eva. Mafter 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. this wrongs you.] This is below your character, unworthy of your understanding, injurious to your honour. So, in The Taming of the Shrew, Bianca, being ill treated by her rugged fifter, says: "You wrong me much, indeed you wrong yourself.” JOHNSON. Page. |
