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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 ftudy them both, Mr. Parfon?
Page. And youthful ftill, in your doublet and hofe, this raw-rheumatick day?
Eva. There is reafons and caufes 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 refpect.
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
Slen. O, fweet Anne Page!
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 queftion; let them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English.
Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear wherefore vil 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.
Gaius. Diable! Jack Rugby, mine Hoft de Farterre, 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, now 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-curer.
Caius. Ay, dat is very good, excellent.
Hoft. Peace, I fay; hear mine Host 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, terreftial; fo.- 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 fkins are whole, and let burn'd fack be the iffue. Come, lay their fwords to pawn. Follow me, lad 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 Hoft of
Caius: By gar, with all my heart; he promise to bring me where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me
Eva. Well, I will fmite his noddles.-Pray you fol[Exeunt.
The Street, in Windfor.
Enter Miftrefs Page, and Robin.
AY, keep your way, little gallant; 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.
Ford. Well met, mistress Page; whither go you? Mrs. Page. Truly, Sir, to fee your wife; is the at home?
Ford. Ay; and as idle as fhe may hang together,
3 Scall feurvey.] Scall was an old word of reproach, as Scab was afterwards.
Chaucer imprecates on his
Under thy longe Lockes mayeft thou have the Scalle.
for want of company; I think, if your husbands were dead, you two would marry.
Mrs. Page. Be fure of that, two other husbands.
Rob. 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, fhe is.
Mrs. Page. By your leave, Sir. I am fick, 'till I fee her. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Robin.
Ford. Has Page any brains? hath he any eyes? hath he any thinking? fure, they fleep; he hath no ufe of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty mile, as eafy as a cannon will shoot point blank twelve-fcore. 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 borrow'd veil of modefty from the fo feeming miftrefs Page, divulge Page himself for a fecure and wilful Acteon, and to thefe violent proceedings all my neighbours fhall cry aim. The clock gives me my cue, and my affurance bids me fearch; there I fhall find Falstaff. I fhall be rather praised for this, than mocked; for it is as pofitive as the earth is firm, that Falstaff is there: I will go.
To him, Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Hoft, Evans, and Caius.
Shal. Page, &c. Well met, Mr. Ford.
Ford. Trust me, a good knot: I have good cheer at home, and, I pray you, all go with me.
Shal. I muft excufe myself, Mr. Ford.
Slen. And fo muft I, Sir; we have appointed to dine with Mrs. Anne, and I would not break with her for more mony than I'll speak of.
Shal. We have linger'd about a match between Anne Page and my coufin Slender, and this day we fhall have our answer.
Slen. I hope, I have your good will, father Page. Page. You have, Mr. Slender; I ftand wholly for you; but my wife, mafter Doctor, is for you altogether.
Caius. Ay, by gar, and de maid is love-a-me; my nurfh-a-Quickly tell me fo mush.
Hoft. What fay you to young Mr. Fenton? he capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he fpeaks holy-day, he fmells April and May; he will carry't, he will carry't; 'tis in his buttons; he will carry't.
Page. Not by my confent, I promise you. The Gentleman is of no having, he kept company with the