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and she's a great lubberly boy: if it had not been i' the church, I would have swinged him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 't is 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 married 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, bow you should know my daughter by her garments ?
Slen. I went to her in white, and cried, “mum," and she cried “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; turned my daughter into green; and indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married.
Enter Doctor Caius. Caius. Vere is mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened; I ha' married un garçon, a boy; un paisan, by gar, a boy: it is not Anne Page; by gar, I am cozened.
Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green ?
Caius. Ay, by gar, and 't is a boy: by gar, I'll raise all Windsor.
(Exit Caius. Ford. This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne? Page. My heart misgives me. Here comes master Fenton.
Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE. How now, master Fenton!
Anne. Pardon, good father! good my mother, pardon!
Page. Now, mistress; how chance you went not with master Slender?
Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doctor maid?
Fent. You do amaze her: hear the truth of it.
Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us.
Ford. Stand not amaz’d: here is no remedy. -
Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced.
Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy. What cannot be eschewd, must be embracd.
Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd.
Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no farther. — Master Fenton,
Ford. Let it be so. Sir John,
VENUS AND ADONIS.
Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him.
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith, that the world hath ending with thy life.
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses:
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses :
Making them red and pale with fresh variety;
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And governd him in strength, though not in lust. So soon was she along, as he was down, Each leaning on their elbows and their hips : Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown, And’gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.
He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss;
Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin.
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.
Rain added to a river that is rank,
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.
Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd with a more delight.
Which long have rain’d, making her cheeks all wet;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.