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Ford. I am bleft in your acquaintance. Do you know Ford, Sir?

Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave; I know him not; yet I wrong him to call him poor: they fay the jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money, for the which his wife feems to be well-favour'd. I will ufe her as the key of the cuckoldlyrogue's coffer; and there's my harvest-home. Ford. I would you knew Ford, Sir, that you might avoid him, if you faw him.

Fal. Hang him, mechanical falt-butter rogue: I will ftare him out of his wits; I will awe him with my cudgel; it fhall hang like a meteor o'er the cuckold's horns. Mafter Brook, thou fhalt know I will predominate over the peafant, and thou fhalt ly with his wife.-Come to me foon at night. Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his ftyle: thou, Mafter Brook, fhall know him for knave and cuckold.. -Come to me foon at night. [Exit,



Ford. What a damn'd Epicurean rascal is this! my heart is ready to crack with impatience. Who fays this is improvident jealoufy? my wife hath fent to him, the hour is fix'd, the match is made; would any man have thought this? fee the hell of having a falfe woman! my bed fhall be abus'd, my coffers ranfack'd, my reputation gnawn at; and I fhall not only receive this villainous wrong, but ftand under the adoption of abominable terms, and by him that does me the wrong. Terms, names; Amaimon founds well; Lucifer well; Barbafon well; yet they are devils' additions, the names of fiends but cuckold, wittol, cuckold the devil kimfelf hath not fuch a name. Page is an afs, a fecure afs, he will truft his wife; he will not be jealous: I will rather truft a Fleming with my butter, parfon Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, an Irishman with my aquavitæ bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with herfelf. Then the plots, then the ruminates, then she


devises and what they think in their hearts they may effect, they will break their hearts but they will effect. Heav'n be prais'd for my jealousy!Eleven o'clock the hour-I will prevent this, detect my wife, be reveng'd on Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I will about it-better three hours too foon, than a minute too late. Fy, fy, fy; cuckold, cuckold, cuckold!




Changes to Windfor Park.

Enter Caius and Rugby.

Caius. Jack Rugby!
Rug. Sir.

Caius. Vat is de clock, Jack?

Rug. 'Tis paft the hour, Sir, that Sir Hugh promis'd to meet.

Caius. By gar, he has fave his foul, dat he is no come; he has pray his Bible well, dat he is no come by gar, Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if he be come.

Rug He is wife, Sir: he knew your worship would kill him if he came.

Caius. By gar de herring is not fo dead as me vill make him. Take your rapier, Jack; I vill i tell you how I vill kill him.

Rug. Alas, Sir, I cannot fence.
Caius. Villan-a, take your rapier.
Rug. Forbear; here's company.

Enter Hoft, Shallow, Slender and Page.

Hoft. 'Blefs thee, bully Doctor. Shal. 'Save you, Mr Doctor Caius. Page. Now, good Mr Doctor. Slen. Give you good-morrow, Sir. Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for?

Hoft. To fee thee fight, to fee thee foin, to fee thee traverse, to fee thee here, to fee thee there, to fee thee pafs thy punto, thy ftock, thy reverse,

thy diftance, thy montant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian? is he dead, my Francifco? ha, bully, what fays my Aefculapius? my Galen? my heart of elder? ha? is he dead, bully-ftale? is he dead?

Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack Priest of de vorld; he is not fhow his face.

Hoft. Thou art a Caftalian-king-Urinal: Hector of Greece, my boy.

Caius. I pray you bear witness, that me have ftay fix or feven, two, tree hours for him, and he is no come.

Shal. He is the wifer man, Mr Doctor; he is a curer of fouls, and you a curer of bodies: if you fhould fight, you go against the hair of your profeflions: is it not true, Mafter Page?

Page. Mafter Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter, though now a man of peace.

Shal. Body-kins, Mr Page, though I now be old, and of peace, if I fee a fword out, my finger itches to make one; though we are justices, and doctors, and church-men, Mr Page, we have fome falt of our youth in us; we are the fons of women, Mr Page.

Page. 'Tis true, Mr Shallow.

Shal. It will be found fo, Mr Page. Mr Doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am fworn of the peace; you have fhew'd yourself a wife phyfician, and Sir Hugh hath fhown himself a wife and patient churchman. You must go with me, Mr Doctor.

Hoft. Pardon, gueft-juftice.-A word, Monfieur mock-water.

Caius. Mock-vater? vat is dat?

Hoft. Mockwater, in our English tongue, is valour, bully.

Caius. By gar, then I have as much mock-vater as de Englishman fcurvy-jack-dog-priest; by gar me vill cut his ears.

Hoft. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. Caius. Clapper-de-claw? vat is dat?

Hoft. That is, he will make thee amends.

Caius. By gar me do look, he fhall `clapper-declaw me; for by gar me vill have it.

Hoft. And I will provoke him to't, or let him
Caius. Me tank you for dat.


Hoft. And moreover, bully.--But first, Mr Guest, and Mr Page, and eek Cavaliero Slender, go you through the town to Frogmore.

Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he?

Hoft. He is there; fee what humour he is in; and I will bring the Doctor about the fields: will it do well?

Shal. We will do it.

All, Adieu, good Mr Doctor.

[Exeunt Page, Shallow and Slender. Caius. By gar me vill kill de prieft; for he fpeak for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page.

Hoft. Let him die; but firft, fheath thy impa-tience; throw cold water on thy choler; go about the fields with me through Frogmore; I will bring thee where Mistress Anne Page is, at a farm-house, a feafting; and thou fhalt wooe her. Cry aim; faid I well?

Caius. By gar me tank you vor dat: by gar I love you; and I fhall procure 'a you de good gueft; de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my, patients.

Hoft. For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne Page: faid I well?

Caius. By gar 'tis good; vell faid.
Hoft. Let us wag then.

Caius, Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. [Exeunts


Frogmore near Windfor.

Enter Evans and Simple.


I Slender's

man, and friend Simple by your name, which

way have you look'd for Mafter Caius, that calls himself Doctor of Phyfic?

Sim. Marry, Sir, the Pitty-wary, the Park-ward, every way, old Windfor way, and every way but the town way.

Eva. I most fehemently defire you, you will also look that way. Sim. I will, Sir.

Eva. 'Plefs my foul, how full of cholars I am, and trempling of mind! I fhall be glad if he have deceiv'd me; how melanchollies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave's coftard, when I have good opportunities for the orke: 'Pless my foul! [Sings, being afraid.

By fhallow rivers, to whofe falls Melodious birds fing madrigalls; There will we make our peds of roses, And a thoufand vagrant pofies. By hallow 'Mercy on me! I have a great difpofitions to cry. Melodious birds fing madrigalls When as I fat in Pabilon; and a thousand vagrant pofies. By fhallow, &c.

Sim. Yonder he is coming, this way, Sir Hugh. Eva. He's welcome. By fallow rivers, to whose

Heav'n profper the right! what weapons is he?

Sim. No weapons, Sir; there comes my master, Mr Shallow, and another gentleman from Frogmore, over the ftile, this way.

Eva. Pray you, give me my gown, or else keep it in your arms.


Enter Page, Shallow and Slender.

Shal. How now, Master Parfon? good morrow, good Sir Hugh. Keep a gamefter from the dice, and a good ftudent from his book, and it is wonderful.

Slen. Ah fweet Anne Page!

Page. Save you, good Sir Hugh.

Eva. 'Plefs you from his mercy-fake, all of you.

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