Act III, Scene iii:
A room in FORD'S house.

[Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE.]

MRS:

What, John! what, Robert!

MRS:

Quickly, quickly:—Is the buck-basket—

MRS:

I warrant. What, Robin, I say!

[Enter SERVANTS with a basket.]

MRS:

Come, come, come.

MRS:

Here, set it down.

MRS:

Give your men the charge; we must be brief.

MRS:

Marry, as I told you before, John and Robert, be

ready here hard by in the brew-house; and when I suddenly

call you, come forth, and, without any pause or

staggering, take this basket on your shoulders: that done,

trudge with it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters

in Datchet-Mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch

close by the Thames side.

MRS:

You will do it?

MRS:

I have told them over and over; they lack no

direction. Be gone, and come when you are called.

[Exeunt SERVANTS.]

MRS:

Here comes little Robin.

[Enter ROBIN.]

MRS:

How now, my eyas-musket! what news with you?

ROBIN:

My Master Sir John is come in at your back-door,

Mistress Ford, and requests your company.

MRS:

You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been true to us?

ROBIN:

Ay, I'll be sworn. My master knows not of your

being here, and hath threatened to put me into everlasting

liberty, if I tell you of it; for he swears he'll turn me away.

MRS:

Thou 'rt a good boy; this secrecy of thine shall

be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a new doublet and

hose. I'll go hide me.

MRS:

Do so. Go tell thy master I am alone.

[Exit ROBIN.]

Mistress Page, remember you your cue.

MRS:

I warrant thee; if I do not act it, hiss me.

[Exit.]

MRS:

Go to, then; we'll use this unwholesome

humidity, this gross watery pumpion; we'll teach him to

know turtles from jays.

[Enter FALSTAFF.]

FALSTAFF:

'Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel?'

Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough: this is

the period of my ambition: O this blessed hour!

MRS:

O, sweet Sir John!

FALSTAFF:

Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate,

Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish; I would thy

husband were dead. I'll speak it before the best lord, I

would make thee my lady.

MRS:

I your lady, Sir John! Alas, I should be a pitiful

lady.

FALSTAFF:

Let the court of France show me such another. I

see how thine eye would emulate the diamond; thou hast

the right arched beauty of the brow that becomes the

ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance.

MRS:

A plain kerchief, Sir John; my brows become

nothing else; nor that well neither.

FALSTAFF:

By the Lord, thou art a traitor to say so: thou

wouldst make an absolute courtier; and the firm fixture of

thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait in a

semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, if Fortune

thy foe were, not Nature, thy friend. Come, thou canst not

hide it.

MRS:

Believe me, there's no such thing in me.

FALSTAFF:

What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee

there's something extraordinary in thee. Come, I cannot

cog and say thou art this and that, like a many of these

lisping hawthorn-buds that come like women in men's

apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple-time; I

cannot; but I love thee, none but thee; and thou deservest it.

MRS:

Do not betray me, sir; I fear you love Mistress Page.

FALSTAFF:

Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the

Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek of a

lime-kiln.

MRS:

Well, heaven knows how I love you; and you

shall one day find it.

FALSTAFF:

Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it.

MRS:

Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could

not be in that mind.

ROBIN:

[Within] Mistress Ford! Mistress Ford! here's

Mistress Page at the door, sweating and blowing and looking

wildly, and would needs speak with you presently.

FALSTAFF:

She shall not see me; I will ensconce me behind

the arras.

MRS:

Pray you, do so; she's a very tattling woman.

[FALSTAFF hides himself.]

[Re-enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN.]

What's the matter? How now!

MRS:

O Mistress Ford, what have you done? You're

shamed, you are overthrown, you are undone for ever!

MRS:

What's the matter, good Mistress Page?

MRS:

O well-a-day, Mistress Ford! having an honest

man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion!

MRS:

What cause of suspicion?

MRS:

What cause of suspicion? Out upon you! how

am I mistook in you!

MRS:

Why, alas, what's the matter?

MRS:

Your husband's coming hither, woman, with all

the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman that he

says is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an

ill advantage of his absence: you are undone.

MRS:

[Asise.] Spek louder.—'Tis not so, I hope.

MRS:

Pray heaven it be not so that you have such a

man here! but 'tis most certain your husband's coming,

with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one. I

come before to tell you. If you know yourself clear, why,

I am glad of it; but if you have a friend here, convey,

convey him out. Be not amazed; call all your senses to you;

defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good life

for ever.

MRS:

What shall I do?—There is a gentleman, my dear

friend; and I fear not mine own shame as much as his peril:

I had rather than a thousand pound he were out of the

house.

MRS:

For shame! never stand 'you had rather' and 'you

had rather': your husband's here at hand; bethink you of

some conveyance; in the house you cannot hide him. O,

how have you deceived me! Look, here is a basket; if he be

of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and throw

foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking: or—it is

whiting-time—send him by your two men to Datchet-Mead.

MRS:

He's too big to go in there. What shall I do?

FALSTAFF:

[Coming forward] Let me see 't, let me see 't. O,

let me see 't! I'll in, I'll in; follow your friend's counsel;

I'll in.

MRS:

What, Sir John Falstaff! Are these your letters, knight?

FALSTAFF:

I love thee and none but thee; help me away: let me creep in

here. I'll never—

[He gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen.]

MRS:

Help to cover your master, boy. Call your men,

Mistress Ford. You dissembling knight!

MRS:

What, John! Robert! John!

[Exit ROBIN.]

[Re-enter SERVANTS.]

Go, take up these clothes here, quickly; where's the

cowl-staff? Look how you drumble! Carry them to the laundress

in Datchet-Mead; quickly, come.

[Enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS.]

FORD:

Pray you come near. If I suspect without cause, why

then make sport at me, then let me be your jest; I deserve

it. How now, whither bear you this?

SERVANT:

MRS:

Why, what have you to do whither they bear it?

You were best meddle with buck-washing.

FORD:

Buck! I would I could wash myself of the buck!

Buck, buck, buck! ay, buck; I warrant you, buck; and of

the season too, it shall appear.

[Exeunt SERVANTS with the basket.]

Gentlemen, I have dreamed to-night; I'll tell you my

dream. Here, here, here be my keys: ascend my chambers;

search, seek, find out. I'll warrant we'll unkennel the fox.

Let me stop this way first.[Locking the door.]So, now

uncape.

PAGE:

Good Master Ford, be contented: you wrong yourself

too much.

FORD:

True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen, you shall see sport

anon; follow me, gentlemen.[Exit.]

EVANS:

This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies.

CAIUS:

By gar, 'tis no the fashion of France; it is not jealous

in France.

PAGE:

Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his

search.

[Exeunt EVANS, PAGE, and CAIUS.]

MRS:

Is there not a double excellency in this?

MRS:

I know not which pleases me better, that my

husband is deceived, or Sir John.

MRS:

What a taking was he in when your husband

asked who was in the basket!

MRS:

I am half afraid he will have need of washing; so

throwing him into the water will do him a benefit.

MRS:

Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the

same strain were in the same distress.

MRS:

I think my husband hath some special suspicion

of Falstaff's being here, for I never saw him so gross in his

jealousy till now.

MRS:

I will lay a plot to try that, and we will yet have

more tricks with Falstaff: his dissolute disease will scarce

obey this medicine.

MRS:

Shall we send that foolish carrion, Mistress

Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the water,

and give him another hope, to betray him to another

punishment?

MRS:

We will do it; let him be sent for to-morrow

eight o'clock, to have amends.

[Re-enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS.]

FORD:

I cannot find him: may be the knave bragged of that

he could not compass.

MRS:

[Aside to MRS. FORD.] Heard you that?

MRS:

[Aside to MRS. PAGE.] Ay, ay, peace.—You use me well, Master

Ford, do you?

FORD:

Ay, I do so.

MRS:

Heaven make you better than your thoughts!

FORD:

Amen!

MRS:

You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford.

FORD:

Ay, ay; I must bear it.

EVANS:

If there be any pody in the house, and in the

chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, heaven forgive

my sins at the day of judgment!

CAIUS:

Be gar, nor I too; there is no bodies.

PAGE:

Fie, fie, Master Ford, are you not ashamed? What

spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I would not ha'

your distemper in this kind for the wealth of Windsor

Castle.

FORD:

'Tis my fault, Master Page: I suffer for it.

EVANS:

You suffer for a pad conscience. Your wife is as

honest a 'omans as I will desires among five thousand, and five

hundred too.

CAIUS:

By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman.

FORD:

Well, I promised you a dinner. Come, come, walk in

the Park: I pray you pardon me; I will hereafter make

known to you why I have done this. Come, wife, come,

Mistress Page; I pray you pardon me; pray heartily,

pardon me.

PAGE:

Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, we'll mock him.

I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house to breakfast;

after, we'll a-birding together; I have a fine hawk for

the bush. Shall it be so?

FORD:

Any thing.

EVANS:

If there is one, I shall make two in the company.

CAIUS:

If there be one or two, I shall make-a the turd.

FORD:

Pray you go, Master Page.

EVANS:

I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on the

lousy knave, mine host.

CAIUS:

Dat is good; by gar, with all my heart.

EVANS:

A lousy knave! to have his gibes and his mockeries!

[Exeunt.]