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Eva. Nay, it is petter yet; give her this Letter; for it is a

'oman that altogethers Acquaintance with Mistress Anne Page; and the Letter is to defire, and require her to follicit your Master's Desires to Mistress Anne Page: I pray you be gone; I will make an end of my Dinner; there's Pippins and Cheese to come. [Exeunt.

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Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, Pistol and Robin. Fal. Mine Host of the Garter.

Hoft. What says my Bully Rock? speak schollarly, and wifely.

Fal. Truly, mine Host, I must turn away some of my Followers.

Hoft. Discard, Bully Hercules, cashier; let them wag; trot, trot.

Fal. I fit at ten Pounds a Week.

Hoft. Thou'rt an Emperor, Casar, Keisar and Phaezer. I will entertain Bardolph, he will draw, he will tap, said I well, Bully Hector?

Fal. Do so, good mine Hoft.

Hoft. I have spoke, let him follow; let me fee thee froth and live: I am at a word; follow.

[Exit Hoft.

Fal. Bardolph follow him, a Tapster is a good Trade; an old Cloak makes a new Jerkin; a wither'd Serving-man, a fresh Tapster; go, adieu.

Bard. It is a Life that I have defir'd: I will thrive.

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[Exit Bard.

Pift. O base Hungarian Wight, wilt thou the Spigot wield. Nym. He was gotten in Drink; is not the Humour conceited. Fal. I am glad I am so acquit of this Tinderbox; his Thefts were too open, his Filching was like an unskilful Singer, he kept not time.

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Nym. The good Humour is to steal at a Minute's rest... Pift. Convey, the Wise it call: Steal? foh; a fico for the Phrafe.

Fal. Well, Sirs, I am almost out at Heels.

Pift. Why then let Kibes ensue.

Fal. There is no remedy: I must conicatch, I must shift.

Pift. Young Ravens must have Food.

Fal. Which of you know Ford of this Town?

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Pift. I ken the Wight, he is of Substance good.
Fal. My honeft Lads, I will tell you what I am about.
Pift. Two Yards and more.

Fal. No Quips now, Pistol: Indeed I am in the Waste
two Yards about; but I am now about no Waste, I am a-
bout Thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make Love to Ford's
Wife: I spy Entertainment in her; she discourses, she
carves, she gives the Leer of Invitation; I can construe
the Action of her familiar Stile, and the hardest Voice of
her Behaviour, to be english'd right, is, I am Sir John
Falstaff's.

Pift. He hath study'd her Will, and translated her Will,
out of Honesty into English.

Nym. The Anchor is deep; will that Humour pass?
Fal. Now, the Report goes, she has all the Rule of her
Husband's Purse: He hath a Legend of Angels.

Pift. As many Devils entertain; and to her, Boy, say I.
Nym. The Humour rises; it is good; humour me the
Angels.

Fal. I have writ me here a Letter to her; and here a-
nother to Page's Wife, who even now gave me good Eyes
too, examin'd my Parts with most judicious Illiads; fome-
times the Beam of her view guided my Foot, sometimes
my portly Belly.

Pist. Then did the Sun on Dung-hill shine.
Nym. I thank thee for that Humour.

Fal. O she did so course o'er my Exteriors with such a
greedy Intention, that the Appetite of her Eye did seem to
scorch me up like a Burning-glass: Here's another Letter
to her; the bears the Purse too; she is a Region in Guiana,
all Gold and Bounty. I will be Cheaters to them both, and
they shall be Exchequers to me; they shall be my East
and West-Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear
thou this Letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to Mi-
stress Ford: We will thrive, Lads, we will thrive.

Pift. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become;

And by my Side wear Steel? Then Lucifer take all.
Nym. I will run no base Humour: Here take the Hu-

mour-Letter, I will keep the Haviour of Reputation.
Fal. Hold, Sirrah, bear you these Letters rightly,

Sail like my Pinnace to these golden Shores.

Rogues,

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Rogues, hence, avaunt, vanish like Hail-ftones; go,
Trudge, plod away o'th' hoof, seek shelter, pack:
Falstaff will learn the Honour of the Age,
French Thrift, you Rogues, my self, and skirted Page.

[Exit. Falstaff and Boy.

Pist. Let Vultures gripe thy Guts; for Gourd, and Fullam holds; and high and low beguiles the rich and poor. Tester I'll have in Pouch when thou shalt lack,

Base Phrygian Turk.

Nym. I have Operations,
Which be Humours of Revenge.
Pist. Wilt thou revenge?
Nym. By Welkin and her Star.
Pist. With Wit, or Steel?

Nym. With both the Humours, I:
I will discuss the Humour of this Love to Ford.
Pift. And I to Page shall eke unfold

How Falstaff, Varlet vile,
His Dove will prove, his Gold will hold,
And his foft Couch defile.

Nym. My Humour shall not cool; I will incense Ford to deal with Poison, I will possess him with Yellowness, for the Revolt of mine is dangerous: That is my true Hu

mour.

Pift. Thou art the Mars of Male-contents: I second thee; troop on.

SCENE IV.

Exeunt.

Enter Mistress Quickly, Simple and John Rugby..

Quic. What, John Rugby! I pray thee go to the Casement, and fee if you can see my Master, Master Doctor Caius, coming; if he do, I'faith, and find any body in the House, here will be an old abusing of God's Patience, and the King's English.

Rug. I'll go watch.

[Exit Rugby.

Quic. Go, and we'll have a Poffet for't soon at Night, in Faith, at the latter end of a Sea-coal Fire: An honeft, willing, kind Fellow, as ever Servant shall come in House withal, and I warrant you no Tell-tale, nor no Breed-bate; his worst Fault is that he is given to Pray'r, he is some

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thing

Slen. I may quarter, Coz.

Shal. You may, by marrying.

Eva. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.
Shal. Not a whit.

Eva. Yes per-lady; if he has a quarter of your Coat, there is but three Skirts for your self, in my fimple Conjectures; but that is all one: If Sir John Falstaff have committed Disparagements unto you, I am of the Church, and will be glad to do my Benevolence, to make Atonements and Compremises between you.

Shal. The Council shall hear it; it is a Riot.

Eva. It is not meet the Council hear of a Riot; there is no Fear of Got in a Riot: The Council, look you, shall defire to hear the Fear of Got, and not to hear a Riot; take you viza-ments in that.

Shal. Ha; o' my Life, if I were young again, the Sword should end it.

Eva. It is petter that Friends is the Sword, and end it ; and there is also another Device in my Prain, which peradventure prings good Difcretions with it: There is Anne Page, which is Daughter to Master Thomas Page, which is pretty Virginity.

Slen. Mistress Anne Page? she has brown Hair, and speaks like a Woman.

Eva. It is that ferry Person for all the Orld, as just as you will defire; and seven hundred Pounds of Monies, and Gold, and Silver, is her Grand-fire upon his Deaths-bed (Got deliver to a joyful Refurrections) give, when she is able to overtake seventeen Years old: It were a good Motion, if we leave our pribbles and prabbles, and defire a Marriage between Master Abraham, and Mistress Anne Page.

Slen. Did her Grand-fire leave her seven hundred Pound? Eva. Ay, and her Father is make her a petter Penny. Slen. I know the young Gentlewoman; she has good Gifts.

Gifts.

Eva. Seven hundred Pounds, and possibility is goot Shal. Well; let us fee honest Mr. Page: Is Falstaff there?

Eva. Shall I tell you a Lie? I do despise a Liar as I do despise one that is false; or as I despife one that is not true. The Knight, Sir John, is there; and I beseech you be ruled by your Well-wishers. I will peat the Door [Knocks] for Master Page. What hoa? Got bless your House here.

Page. Who's there?

Enter Mr. Page.

Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your Friend, and Justice Shallow; and here's young Master Slender; that peradventures shall tell you another Tale, if matters grow to your likings.

Page. I am glad to fee your Worship's well: I thank you for my Venison, Master Shallow.

Shal. Master Page, I am glad to fee you; much good do it your good Heart: I wish'd your Venison better; it was ill killd. How doth good Mistress Page? And I thank you always with my Heart, la; with my Heart.

Page. Sir, I thank you.

Shal. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no I do.

Page. I am glad to see you, good Master Slender.

Slen. How do's your fallow Greyhound, Sir? I heard

say, he was out-run on Cotfale.

Page. It could not be judg'd, Sir.

Slen. You'll not confefs, you'll not confefs.

Shal. That he will not, 'tis your fault, 'tis your fault; 'tis

a good Dog.

Page. A Cur, Sir.

Shal. Sir, he's a good Dog, and a fair Dog; can there be more faid? He is good and fair. Is Sir John Falstaff here?

Page. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good Office between you.

Eva. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak.

Shal. He hath wrong'd me, Master Page.

Page. Sir, he doth in some fort confefs it.

Shal. If it be confefs'd, it is not redress'd; is not that so, Mr. Page? He hath wrong'd me, indeed he hath, at a word he hath, believe me, Robert Shallow, Esquire, faith, he is wrong'd.

Page. Here comes Sir John.

Enter

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