were fairies. See now how wit may be made a jack-a-lent, when 'tis upon ill imployment. Eva. Sir John Falstaff, ferve Got, and leave your defires, and fairies will not pinfe you. Ford. Well faid, fairy Hugh. Eva. And leave you your jealoufies too, I pray you. Ford. I will never miftruft my wife again, 'till thou art able to woo her in good English. Fal. Have I laid my brain in the fun and dry'd it, that it wants matter to prevent fo grofs o'er-reaching as this? am I ridden with a Welch goat too? fhall I have a coxcomb of frize? 'tis time I were choak'd with a piece of toafted cheese. Eva. Seefe is not good to give putter; your pelly is all putter. Fal. Seefe and putter? have I liv'd to ftand in the taunt of one that makes fritters of English? this is enough to be the decay of luft and late-walking, through the realm. Mrs. Page. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would have thruft virtue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders, and have given our felves without fcruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our delight? Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax? Page. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable entrails? 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 fwearings, 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 it felf is a plummet o'er me; ufe me as you will. Ford. Marry, Sir, we'll bring you to Windfor to one Mr. Brook, that you have cozen'd of mony, to whom you you should have been a pander: over and above that you have fuffer'd, I think, to repay that mony will be a biting affliction, Page. Yet be cheerful, Knight, thou fhalt eat a poffet to-night at my houfe, where I will defire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her Mr. Slender hath marry'd her daughter. Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that; if Anne Page be my daughter, he is, by this, Doctor Caius's wife. 2 Slen. What hoe! hoe! father Page! Page. Son, how now? how now, fon, have you difpatch'd? Slen. Difpatch'd? I'll make the best in Gloucestershire know on't; would I were hang'd la, elfe. Page. Of what, fon? Slen. I came yonder at Eaton to marry mistress Anne Page, and fhe's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i'th' church, I would have fwing'd him, or he fhould have fwing'd me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never ftir, 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 fo, 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 not I tell you how you should know my daughter by her garments? Slen. I went to her in white and cry'd mum, and the 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 fhe is now with the Doctor at the Deanry, and there marry'd. SCENE A Caius. Ver is mistress Page? by gar, I am cozen'd, I ha' marry'd one garfoon, a boy; one pefant, by gar. boy; it is not Anne Page, by gar, I am cozen'd. Mrs. Page. Why? did you not take her in green? Caius. Ay, by gar, and 'tis a boy; by gar, I'll raife all Windfor Ford. This is ftrange: who hath got the right Anne? Page. My heart mifgives me; here comes Mr. Fenion. Enter Fenton and Anne Page. How now, Mr. Fenton ? Anne. Pardon, good father; good my mother, pardon. Page. Now, mistress, how chance you went not with Mr. Slender? Mrs. Page. Why went you not with Mr. Doctor, maid? Fent. You do amaze her. Hear the truth of it. A thousand irreligious curfed hours Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. In love, the heav'ns themselves do guide the state; Fal. I am glad, tho' you have ta'en a special stand to ftrike at me, that your arrow hath glanc'd. joy! Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heav'n give thee What cannot be efchew'd, must be embrac❜d. Eva. [To Fenton afide.] I will dance and eat plums at your wedding. Fal. When night-dogs run, all forts of deer are chac'd. Mrs. Page. Well, I will mufe no further. Mr. Fenton, Heav'n give you many, many merry days! Good husband, let us every one go home, Ford. Let it be fo; Sir John, To master Brook you yet fhall hold your word; [Exeunt omnes. |