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Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page. Away, away. [The women run out.

Fal. I think, the devil will not have me damn’d, left the oil that is in me should set hell on fire; he would never else cross me thus.

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Enter fir Hugh dress’d like a satyr, Quickly and others like

fairies, with tapers.
Quic. Fairies, black, gray, green, and white,
You moon-shine revellers, and shades of night,
You ouphen-heirs of fixed destiny,
Attend your office, and your quality.
Crier hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes.
Eva. Elves, list your names; filence, you airy toys.

[To be Spoken with a Welch accent.
Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap:
Where fires thou find’st unrak’d, and hearths unswept,
There pinch the maids as blue as bilbery.
Our radiant queen hates sluts, and fluttery.

Fal. They're fairies; he that speaks to them shall die.
I'll wink, and couch; no man their works must eye.

[Lyes down upon his face. Eva. Where's Bede? go you, and where you find a maid

[With a Welch accent.
That ere she sleep hath thrice her prayers said,


of her fantasy,
Sleep she as found as careless infancy !
But those that sleep and think not on their fins,
Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, fides, and shins.

Quic. About, about;
Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out.
Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room,
That it may stand 'till the perpetual doom,
In site as wholsome, as in state 'tis fit;
Worthy the owner, as the owner it.
The several chairs of order look


With juice of balm and ev'ry precious fow'r;
Each fair instalment coat and fev'ral crest
With loyal blazon evermore be blest!
And nightly-meadow-fairies, look you fing,
Like to the garter-compass, in a ring :
Th’expressure that it bears, green let it be,
More fertile fresh than all the field to see;
And, Hony soit qui mal-y-pense, write
In emerald tuffs, Aow'rs purple, blue, and white,
Like saphire-pearl, and rich embroidery,
Buckled below fair knighthood’s bending knee;
Fairies use flow’rs for their charactery.
Away, disperse; but ’till ’tis one o'clock
Our dance of custom round about the oak
Of Herne the hunter, let us not forget.
Eva. Lock hand in hand, yourselves in order set:

[With a Welch accent.
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanthorns be
To guide our measure round about the tree.
But stay, I smell a man of middle earth.

Fal.' Heav'ns defend me from that Welch fairy, lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!

Eva. Vile worm, thou wast o’er-look'd even in thy birth.

Quic. With trial-fire touch me his finger end;
If he be chaste, the fame will back descend,
And turn him to no pain; but if he start,
It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.
Eva. A trial, come.

[They burn bim with their tapers, and pinch him. Come, will this wood take fire ?

Fal. Oh, oh, ho!

Quic. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!
About him, fairies, sing a scornful rhime.
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.


The S O N G.
Fie on fimple fantasy !
Fie on luft, and luxury !
Luft is but i th' blood a fire,
Kindled with unchaste defire,

Fed in the heart, whose flames aspire,
As thoughts do blow them higher and higher.

Pinch bim, fairies, mutually;

Pinch bim for his villany; Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, 'Till candles, and far-light, and moon-shine be out.

[He offers to run out.

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Enter Page, Ford, &c. They lay hold on him. Page. Nay, do not fly; I think, I've watch'd you now; Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn?

Mrs. Page. I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher. Now, good fir John, how like you Windsor wives ? See you these, husbands ? do not these fair oaks

[Pointing to the horns. Become the forest better than the town?

Ford. Now, fir, who's a cuckold now? master Brook, Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldy knave, here are his horns, master Brook; and, master Brook, he hath enjoy'd nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money, which must be pay'd to master Brook; his horses are arrested for it, master Brook.

Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never meet. I will never take my love again, but I will always count

take you


you my deer.

Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass.
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 guiltiness of my mind, with the sudden surprize of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a receiv'd belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhime and reason, that they were fairies. See now how wit may be made a jack-a-lent, when 'tis upon ill employment.

Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve got, and leave your desires, and fairies will not pinse you. Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you.

Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, 'till thou art able to woo her in good English.

Fal. Have I lay'd my brain in the sun, and dry'd it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o’er-reaching as this ? am I ridden with a Welch goat too? shall I have a coxcomb of frize? 'tis time I were chok'd with a piece of toasted cheese.

Eva. Seese is not good to give putter; your pelly is all putter.

Fal. Seese 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 lust 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 scruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our delight?

Ford. What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of flax ?
Mrs. Page. A puft man?
Page. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable entrails ?
Ford. And one that is as slanderous 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 swearings, and starings, pribbles and

prabbles ? Fal . Well

, I am your theme; you have the start 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 Vol. I.



Brook, that you have cozen’d of money, to whom

oney, to whom you should have been a pander : over and above that you have suffer'd, I think, to repay that money will be a biting affliction.

Page. Yet be cheerful, knight; thou shalt 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 marry'd her daughter.

Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that; if Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius's wife.

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Enter Slender. Slend. What hoe! hoe! father Page ! Page. Son, how now? how now, fon; have you dispatch'd ?

Slen. Dispatch'd! I'll make the best in Gloucestershire know on't; would I were hang'd la, else.

Page. Of what, son ?

Slen. I came yonder at Eaton to marry mistress Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i'th' 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 stir, 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 so, when I took a boy for a girl : if I had been marry'd to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him.

Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did I not tell you how you should 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.

Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry; I knew of your purpose, turn’d my daughter into green, and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and there marry’d.


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