Re-enter FALSTAFF. Fal. Let me see't, let me see't! O let me see't! I'll in, I'll in ;-follow your friend's counsel ;—I'll in. Mrs. Page. What! sir John Falstaff? Are these your letters, knight? Fal. I love thee,-help me away: let me creep in here; I'll never [He goes into the Basket, they cover him with foul Linen. Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy: Call your men, mistress Ford :-You dissembling knight! Mrs. Ford. What, John, Robert, John! Go take up these clothes here, quickly; Where's the cowlstaff? look, how you drumble: carry them to the laundress in Datchet mead; quickly, come. 353 Enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and Sir HUGH EVANS. Ford. Pray you, come near: if I suspect without cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be your jest, I deserve it. How now? whither bear you this? Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whither they bear it? you were best meddle with buck-washing. Ford. Buck? I would I could wash myself of the buck! Buck, buck, buck? Ay, buck; I warrant you, buck; and of the season too, it shall appear. [Exeunt Servants with the Basket.] Gentlemen, I have dream'd to-night; I'll tell you my dream, Here, here, here 3 be Let me be my keys: ascend my chambers, search, seek, find out: I'll warrant, we'll unkennel the fox :stop this way first :-So, now uncape. 368 Page. Good master Ford, be contented : you wrong yourself too much. Ford. True, master Page.-Up, gentlemen; you shall see sport anon: follow me, gentlemen. [Exit. Eva. This is fery fantastical humours, and jealousies. Caius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France: it is not jealous in France. Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his search. [Exeunt. Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in this ? Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better, that my husband is deceiv'd, or sir John. 381 Mrs. Page. What a taking was he in, when your husband ask'd who was in the basket! Mrs. Ford. I am half afraid, he will have need of washing; so throwing him into the water will do him a benefit. Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would, all of the same strain were in the same distress. Mrs. Ford. I think, my husband hath some special suspicion of Falstaff's being here; for I never saw him so gross in his jealousy till now. 391 Mrs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that: And we will yet have more tricks with Falstaff: his dissolute disease will scarce obey this medicine. Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, mis tress |