Mrs. Ford. We burn day-light; here, read, read; perceive, how I might be knighted: I fhall think the worfe of fat men, as long as I have an eye to make difference of men's liking; and yet he would not fwear; prais'd women's modefty; and gave fuch orderly and well-behaved reproof to all uncomeliness, that I would have fworn his difpofition would have gone to the truth of his words; but they do no more adhere, and keep place together, than the hundredth Pfalm to the tune of Green Sleeves. What tempeft, I trow, threw this whale, with fo many tun of oyl in his belly, a'thore at Windfor? how fhall I be reveng'd on him? I think, the best way were to entertain him with hope, 'till the wicked fire of luft have melted him in his own greafe. Did you ever hear the like?

Mrs. Page. Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and Ford differs. To thy great comfort in this mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin-brother of thy letter; but let thine inherit firft, for, I proteft, mine never fhall. I warrant, he hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank-fpace for different names; nay, more; and thefe are of the fecond edition: he will print them out of doubt, for he cares not what he puts into the prefs, when he would put us two. I had rather be a giantess, and lye under mount Pelion. Well, I will find you twenty lafcivious turtles, ere one chafte

man...

Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the very fame, the very hand, the very words; what doth he think of us?

Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not; it makes me almost ready to wrangle with mine own honefty. I'll entertain my felf like one that I am not acquainted withal; for, fure, unless he knew fome Strain in me, that I know not my felf, he would never have boarded me in this fury.

Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call it you? I'll be fure to keep him above deck.

Mrs. Page. So will I; if he come under my hatches, I'll never to fea again. Let's be reveng'd on him; let's appoint him a meeting, give him a fhow of com

fort.

fort in his fuit, and lead him on with a fine baited delay, 'till he hath pawn'd his horfes to mine Hoft of the Garter.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will confent to act any villany against him, that may not fully the chariness of our honefty: oh, that my husband faw this letter! it would give eternal food to his jealoufie.

Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes, and my good man too; he's as far from jealoufie, as I am from giving him caufe; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable distance.

Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman.

Mrs. Page. Let's confult together against this greafie Knight. Come hither. [They retire.

Enter Ford with Pistol, Page with Nym.

Ford. Well, I hope, it be not fo.

Pift. Hope is a curtal-dog in fome affairs.

Sir John affects thy wife.

Ford. Why, Sir, my wife is not young.

Pift. He wooes both high and low, both rich and

poor,

Both young and old, one with another, Ford,
He loves thy gally-mawfry, Ford, perpend.

Ford. Love my wife?

Pist. With liver burning hot: prevent, or go thou, like Sir Acteon, he, with Ring-wood at thy heels —O, odious is the name.

Ford. What name, Sir?

Pift. The horn, I fay: farewel.

Take heed, have open eye; for thieves do foot by night. Take heed ere fummer comes, or cuckoo-birds affright, Away, Sir corporal Nym.

Believe it, Page, he speaks fenfe.

[Exit Pistol.

Ford. I will be patient; I will find out this.

Nym. And this is true: I like not the humour of lying; he hath wrong'd me in fome humours: I fhould have born the humour'd letter to her; but I have a fword, and it fhall bite upon my neceffity. He loves your wife; there's the fhort and the long. My

R3

name

name is Corporal Nym; I fpeak, and I avouch; 'tis true :
my name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your Wife. Adieus
I love not the humour of bread and cheese: adieu.
[Exit Nym.
Page. The humour of it, quoth a'! here's a fellow,
frights humour out of its wits.
Ford. I will feek out Falstaff.

Page. I never heard fuch a drawling, affecting rogue.

Ford. If I do find it: well.

Page. (12) I will not believe fuch a Cataian, tho' the
prieft o'th' town commended him for a true man.
Ford. 'Twas a good fenfible fellow: well.

Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford come forwards.

Page. How now, Meg?

Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George? hark you.
Mrs. Ford. How now, fweet Frank, why art thou
melancholy?

Ford. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you
home, go.

Mrs. Ford, Faith, thou haft fome crotchets in thy
head. Now, will you go, mistress Page?

(12) I will not believe fuch a Cataian, tho', &c.] This is a Piece of
Satire, that did not want its Force at the time of this Play's appearing;
tho' the Hiftory, on which it is grounded, is become obfolete, and loft
to general Knowledge. In the Year 1575, Captain Martin Frobisher
(who was afterwards knighted, for Services against the Spanish Armada ;)
being furnish'd with Adventurers to the Project, fet out upon his Difco-
very of a Paffage to Cataia, near China, by the North-weft Seas. Ha-
ving fail'd fixty Degrees North-weft beyond Friesland, he came to Land
upon a Place inhabited by Savages, from whence he brought a piece of
black Stone, like Sea Coal, which, upon his Return, being affay'd by
the Goldfmiths, was judg'd to be very rich in Gold-Ore. This encou-
rag'd him to a fecond Voyage thither the next Seafon; when he freighted
two Veffels home with this black Stone: and in 1578, his Project was
fo rifen in Credit, that he fet fail a third time with fifteen good Ships;
and freighted them all, homewards, out of the fame Mines. But, to
fee the odd Fate that too often attends fuch Difcoveries! Tho' the Pro-
fpect of immenfe Treasures was at first fo plaufible, that it was given out.
with Certainty, Cataia was Solomon's Ophir ; yet, on a fevere Trial, this
boafted Gold-Ore prov'd to be meer Drofs: and that falling fhort of the
expected Value, and the Adventurers of their expected Gains, the Projec
fell fo low in Repute, that Cataians and Frobishers became By-words for
fuch vain Boafters, as promis'd more than they could make out, and
therefore deferv'd not to be credited.

Mrs.

0

Mrs. Page. Have with you. You'll come to dinner, George? Look, who comes yonder; the fhall be our meflenger to this paultry Knight.

Enter Mistress Quickly.

Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her, fhe'll fit it. Mrs. Page. You are come to fee my daughter Anne? Quic. Ay, forfooth; and, I pray, how does good miftrefs Anne?

Mrs. Page. Go in with us, and fee; we have an hour's talk with you.

[Ex. Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Mrs. Quic. Page. How now, mafter Ford?

Ford. You heard what this knave told me, did you not?

Page. Yes; and you heard what the other told me? Ford. Do you think there is truth in them?

Page. Hang 'em, flaves; I do not think, the Knight would offer it; but thefe, that accufe him in his intent towards our wives, are a yoak of his discarded men; very rogues, now they be out of service. Ford. Were they his men?

Page. Marry, were they.

Ford. I like it never the better for that. Does he lye at the Garter?

1

Page. Ay, marry, does he, If he fhould intend his voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loose to him; and what he gets more of her than sharp words, let it lye on my head..

Ford. I do not mifdoubt my wife, but I would be loth to turn them together; a man may be too confident; I would have nothing lye on my head; I cannot be thus fatisfy'd.

Page. Look, where my ranting Hoft of the Garter comes; there is either liquor in his pate, or mony in his purse, when he looks fo merrily. How now, mine Host?

Enter Hoft and Shallow

Hoft. How now, bully Rock? thou'rt a gentleman, cavalerio-juftice, I fay.

Shal. I follow, mine Hoft, I follow. Good even, and twenty, good mafter Page. Mafter Page, will you go with us? we have fport in hand.

Hoft. Tell him, cavaliero-juftice; tell him, bully Rock.

Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh the Welch prieft, and Caius the French doctor. Ford. Good mine Hoft o'th' Garter, a word with you.

Hoft. What fay'ft thou, bully Rock?

Shal. Will you go with us to behold it? my merry Hoft hath had the meafuring of their weapons, and, I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, believe me, I hear, the parfon is no jefter. Hark, I will tell you what our fport fhall be.

Hoft. Haft thou no fuit against my Knight, my guestcavalier?

Ford. None, I protest; but I'll give you a pottle of burnt fack to give me recourfe to him, (13) and tell him, my name is Brook; only for a jeft.

Hoft. My hand, bully: thou fhalt have egrefs and regrefs; faid I well? and thy name fhall be Brook. It is a merry Knight. (14) Will you go an-heirs?

Shal.

(13) And tell him, my Name is Brook ;] Thus both the old Quarto's ; and thus moft certainly the Poet wrote. We need no better Evidence, than the Pun that Falfiaff anon makes on the Name, when Brook sends him fome burnt Sack.

Such Brooks are welcome to me, that overflow with fuch Liquor. The Players, in their Editions, alter'd the Name to Broom: But how far that Name will fort with that Jeft, is fubmitted to common Sense. Their Succeffors, however, of the Stage (like the old Priest, who had read Mumpfimus in his Breviary, inftead of Sumpfimus, too long to think of altering it;) continue to this day to call him, Mafter Broom.

(14) Will ll you go an heirs? I can make Nothing of this Reading, which hath poffefs'd all the Editions. The Word is not to be traced; and, confequently, I am apt to fufpect, must be corrupted. I should think, the Host meant to fay, either,