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fake you suffer'd all this. My fuit is then desperate; you'll undertake her no more?

Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etra as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her husband is this morning gone a birding; I have receiv'd from her another embassie of meeting ; 'twixt eight and nine is the hour, mafter Brook.

Ford. 'Tis past eight already, Sir.

Fal. Is it? I will then address me to my appointment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall know how I speed; and the conclusion shall be crown'd with your enjoying her ; adieu, you shall have her, master Brook; master Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. [Exit.

Ford. Hum! ha! is this a vision ? is this a dream? do I fleep? master Ford, awake; awake, master Ford; there's a hole made in your best coat, master Ford; this 'tis to be married! this 'tis to have linnen and buckbaskets! well, I will proclaim my self what I am; I will now take the leacher; he is at my house ; he cannot 'scape me; 'tis impossible he should; he cannot creep into a half-penny purse, nor into a pepper-box. But left the devil that guides him should aid him, I will search impossible places; tho' what I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not shall not make me tame: if I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb go with me, I'll be horn-mad.


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Enter Mistress Page, Mistress Quickly, and William.

Mrs. PAGE.
She at Mr. Ford's already, think'st thou?

Quick. Sure he is by this, or will be presently; but truly he is very courageous mad about his throwing into the water ; Mrs. Ford desires you to come suddenly.

Mrs. Page. I'll be with her by and by; I'll but bring my young man here to school. Look where his master comes; 'tis a playing-day I see. How now, Sir Hugh, no school to-day?

Enter Evans. Eva. No; master Slender is let the boys leave to play. Quic. Blessing of his heart!

Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits nothing in the world at his book; I pray you, ask him fome questions in his accidence.

Eva. Come hither, William, hold up your head, come.

Mrs. Page. Come on, Sirrah, hold up your head; answer your master, be not afraid.

Eva. William, how many numbers is in nouns ?
Will. Two.

Quic. Truly, I thought there had been one number more, because they say, odd's nowns.

Eva. Peace your tatlings. What is Fair, William ?
Will. Pulcber.


Quic. Poulcats ? there are fairer things than poulcats, sure.

Eva. You are a very simplicity 'oman; I pray you, peace. What is Lapis, William ?

Will. A stone.
Eva. And what is a stone, William?
Will. A pebble.

Eva. No, it is Lapis: I pray you remember in your prain.

Will. Lapis.

Eva. That is a good William : what is he, William, that does lend articles ?

Will. Articles are borrow'd of the pronoun, and be thus declin’d, fingulariter nominativo, bic, hæc, boc.

Eva. Nominativo, big, bag, bog; pray you, mark: genitivo, bujus : well, what is your accusative case ?

Will. Accusative, hinc.

Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, child; accufative, bung, bang, bog.

Quic. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant you.

Eva. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the focative case, William ?

Will. O, vocativo, O.
Eva. Remember, William, focative is caret.
Quic. And that's a good root.
Eva. 'Oman, forbear.
Mrs. Page. Peace.
Eva. What is your genitive case plural; William ?
Will. Genitive cafe?
Eva. Ay.
Will. Genitive, borum, barum, horum.

Quic. Vengeance of Giney's case; fie on her! never name her, child, if the be a whore.

Eva. For shame, 'oman.

Quic. You do ill to teach the child such words: he teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do fast enough of themselves; and to call horum; fie upon you! Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunacies ! haft thou no under


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standings for thy cases, and the numbers of the genders ?
thou art as foolish christian creatures as I would desire.

Mrs. Page. Priythee, hold thy peace.
Eva. Shew me now, William, fome declensions of

your pronouns.

Will. Forsooth, I have forgot.

Eva. It is qui, quæ, quod; if you forget your quies, your quæs, and your quods, you must be preeches : go your ways and play, go.

Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I thought he
Eva. He is a good sprag memory. Farewel, Mrs. Pages

Mrs. Page. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long.




Ford's House.

Enter Falstaff and Mistress Ford:
Fal. ,

ferance' ;; I see you are obsequious in your love, , and I profefs requital to a hair's breadth, not only, mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all the accouftrement, complement, and ceremony of it. But are you fure of your husband now?

Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, sweet' Sir John.

Mrs. Page. (Within.] What hoa, gossip Ford! what hoa! Mrs. Ford. Step into thchamber, Sir John.

[Exit Falstaff.
Enter Mistress Page.
Mrs. Page. How now, sweet heart, who's at home be-
fides your self?

Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people.
Mrs, Pagė. Indeed ?


Mrs. Ford. No certainly.-- Speak louder.

Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have no body here.

Mrs. Ford. Why?

Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes again; he so takes on yonder with my husband, so rails against all married mankind, so curfes all. Eve's daughters of what complexion foever, and fo buffets himself on the fore-head, crying peer-out, peer-out, that any madness I ever yet beheld seem'd but tameness, 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 carry'd out, the last time he search'd for him, in a basket ; protests to my husband he is now here, and hath drawn him and the rest of their company from their sport, to make another experiment of his suspicion; but I am glad the Knight is not here ; now he shall see his own foolery.

Mrs. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page ?

Mrs. Page. Hard by, at street's end, he will be here anon.

Mrs Ford. I am undone, the Knight is here.

Mrs. Page. Why then thou art utterly sham'd, and he's but a dead man. What a woman are you? away with him, away with him? better shame than murther.

Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go? how should I bestow him ? shall I put him into the basket again?


Enter Falstaff. Fal. No, I'll come no more i'th' basket: may I not go out ere he come?

Mrs. Page. Alas, alas, three of master Ford's brothers watch the door with pistols, that none should issue out, otherwise you might nip ere he came : but what make

you here?


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