Act III, Scene i:
A field near Frogmore.

[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE.]

EVANS:

I pray you now, good Master Slender's serving-man,

and friend Simple by your name, which way have you

looked for Master Caius, that calls himself doctor of

physic?

SIMPLE:

Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park-ward, every

way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way.

EVANS:

I most fehemently desire you you will also look that

way.

SIMPLE:

I will, Sir.

[Exit.]

EVANS:

Pless my soul, how full of chollors I am, and trempling

of mind! I shall be glad if he have deceived me. How

melancholies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave's

costard when I have goot opportunities for the 'ork: pless

my soul!

[Sings]

To shallow rivers, to whose falls

Melodious birds sings madrigals;

There will we make our peds of roses,

And a thousand fragrant posies.

To shallow—

Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry.

[Sings.]

Melodious birds sing madrigals,—

Whenas I sat in Pabylon,—

And a thousand vagram posies.

To shallow,—

[Re-enter SIMPLE.]

SIMPLE:

Yonder he is, coming this way, Sir Hugh.

EVANS:

He's welcome.

[Sings]

To shallow rivers, to whose falls—

Heaven prosper the right!—What weapons is he?

SIMPLE:

No weapons, sir. There comes my master, Master

Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore, over the

stile, this way.

EVANS:

Pray you give me my gown; or else keep it in your

arms.[Reads in a book.]

[Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER.]

SHALLOW:

How now, Master Parson! Good morrow, good

Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student

from his book, and it is wonderful.

SLENDER:

[Aside] Ah, sweet Anne Page!

PAGE:

Save you, good Sir Hugh!

EVANS:

Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you!

SHALLOW:

What, the sword and the word! Do you study

them both, Master Parson?

PAGE:

And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, this raw

rheumatic day!

EVANS:

There is reasons and causes for it.

PAGE:

We are come to you to do a good office, Master

Parson.

EVANS:

Fery well; what is it?

PAGE:

Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike having

received wrong by some person, is at most odds with

his own gravity and patience that ever you saw.

SHALLOW:

I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never

heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of

his own respect.

EVANS:

What is he?

PAGE:

I think you know him: Master Doctor Caius, the

renowned French physician.

EVANS:

Got's will and his passion of my heart! I had as lief

you would tell me of a mess of porridge.

PAGE:

Why?

EVANS:

He has no more knowledge in Hibbocrates and

Galen,—and he is a knave besides; cowardly knave as you

would desires to be acquainted withal.

PAGE:

I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him.

SLENDER:

[Aside] O, sweet Anne Page!

SHALLOW:

It appears so, by his weapons. Keep them asunder;

here comes Doctor Caius.

[Enter HOST, CAIUS, and RUGBY.]

PAGE:

Nay, good Master Parson, keep in your weapon.

SHALLOW:

So do you, good Master Doctor.

HOST:

Disarm them, and let them question; let them keep

their limbs whole and hack our English.

CAIUS:

I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear:

verefore will you not meet-a me?

EVANS:

[Aside to CAIUS.] Pray you use your patience; in

good time.

CAIUS:

By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.

EVANS:

[Aside to CAIUS.] Pray you, let us not be

laughing-stogs to other men's humours; I desire you in

friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.

[Aloud.] I will knog your urinals about your knave's cogscomb

for missing your meetings and appointments.

CAIUS:

Diable!—Jack Rugby,—mine Host de Jarretiere,—have I

not stay for him to kill him? Have I not, at de place I did

appoint?

EVANS:

As I am a Christians soul, now, look you, this is the

place appointed. I'll be judgment by mine host of the

Garter.

HOST:

Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaullia; French and Welsh,

soul-curer and body-curer!

CAIUS:

Ay, dat is very good; excellent!

HOST:

Peace, I say! Hear mine host of the Garter. Am I

politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my

doctor? No; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I

lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh? No; he gives me

the proverbs and the no-verbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial;

so;—give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have

deceived you both; I have directed you to wrong places;

your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt

sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow

me, lads of peace; follow, follow, follow.

SHALLOW:

Trust me, a mad host!—Follow, gentlemen, follow.

SLENDER:

[Aside] O, sweet Anne Page!

[Exeunt SHALLOW, SLENDER, PAGE, and HOST.]

CAIUS:

Ha, do I perceive dat? Have you make-a de sot of us,

ha, ha?

EVANS:

This is well; he has made us his vlouting-stog. I

desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains

together to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging

companion, the host of the Garter.

CAIUS:

By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me

where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too.

EVANS:

Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you follow.

[Exeunt.]