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gone to the truth of his words; but they do no more adhere, and keep place together, than the hundredth pfalm to the tune of Green Sleeves. What tempeft, I trow, threw this whale, with so many tun of oil in his belly, a'fhore at Windfor? how fhall I be reveng'd on him? I think, the best way were to entertain him with hope, 'till the wicked fire of luft have melted him in his own greafe. Did you ever hear the like?

Mrs. Page. Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and Ford differs. To thy great comfort in this mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin-brother of thy letter; but let thine inherit firft, for, I proteft, mine never fhall. I warrant, he hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank-fpace for different names; nay, more; and these are of the second edition: he will print them out of doubt, for he cares not what he puts into the prefs, when he would put us two. I had rather be a giantess, and lie under mount Pelion. Well, I will find you twenty lascivious turtles, ere one chafte man.

Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the very fame, the very hand, the very words; what doth he think of us?

Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not; it makes me almost ready to wrangle with mine own honefty. I'll entertain myself like one that I am not acquainted withal; for, fure, uniefs he knew fome strain in me, that I know not myself, he would never have boarded me in this fury.

Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call it you? I'll be fure to keep him above deck.

Mrs. Page. So will I; if he come under my hatches, I'll never to fea again. Let's be reveng'd on him; let's appoint him a meeting, give him a fhow of comfort in his fuit, and lead him on with a fine baited delay, 'till he hath pawn'd his horfes to mine Hoft of the Garter.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will confent to act any villainy against him, that may not fully the charinefs of our honefty: oh, that my husband faw this letter! it would give eternal food to his jealoufy.

Mrs. Page.

Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes, and my good man too; he's as far from jealouly, as I am from giving him caufe; and that, I hope, is an unmeaturable distance.

Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman.

Mrs. Page. Let's confult together against this greafy Knight. Come hither. [They retire.

Enter Ford with Piftol, Page with Nym.

Ford. Well, I hope, it be not fo.

-Pift. Hope is a cartal dog in fome affairs.

Sir John affects thy wife.

Ford. Why, Sir, my wife is not young.

Pift. He wooes both high and low, both rich and Both young and old, one with another, Ford; He loves thy gally-mawfry, Ford, perpend. Ford. Love my wife?

poor,

Pift. With liver burning hot: prevent, or go thou, like Sir Acteon, he, with Ring-wood at thy heels-0, odious is the name.

Ferd. What name, Sir?

Pift. The horn, I fay: farewel.

Take heed, have open eye; for thieves do foot by night. Take heed ere fummer comes, or cuckoo-birds affright. Away, Sir corporal Nym.

Believe it, Page, he fpeaks fenfe.

[Exit Piftol. Ford. I will be patient; I will find out this.

My

Nym. And this is true: I like not the humour of lying; he hath wrong'd me in fome humours: I hould have borne the humour'd letter to her; but I have a sword, and it fhall bite upon my neceflity. He loves your wife; there's the fhort and the long. name is corporal Nym; I fpeak, and I avouch; 'tis true; my name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife. -Adieu; I love not the humour of bread and cheese : adieu. [Exit Nym. Page. The humour of it, quoth a'! here's a fellow, frights humour out of its wits.

1

Ford. I will feek out for Falstaff.

Page. I never heard fuch a drawling, affecting rogue. VOL. I.

M

Ford.

Ford. If I do find it: well.

Page. (12) I will not believe fuch a Cataian, tho' the priest o' th' town commended him for a true man. Ford. 'Twas a good fenfible fellow well.

:

Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford come forwards.

Page. How now, Meg!

Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George? hark you. Mrs. Ford. How now, fweet Frank, why art thou melancholy?

Ford. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you home, go.

Mrs. Ford. Faith, thou haft fome crotchets in thy head. Now, will you go, miftrefs Page?

Mrs. Page. Have with you. You'll come to dinner, George? Look, who comes yonder; she shall be our meffenger to this paltry Knight.

(12) I will not believe fuch a Cataian, tho', &c.] This is a piece of fatire, that did not want its force at the time of the play's appearing; tho' the history, on which it is grounded, is become obfolete, and loft to general knowledge. In the year 1575, Captain Martin Frobisher (who was afterwards knighted, for fervices against the Spanife Armada;), being furnish'd with adventurers to the project, fet out upon his difcovery of a paffage to Cataia, near China, by the North-west feas. Having fail'd fixty degrees North-weft beyond Friefland, he came to land upon a place inhabited by favages, from whence he brought a piece of black ftone, like fea-coal, which, upon his return, being affayed by the goldfmiths, was judg'd to be very rich in gold-ore. This encourag'd him to a fecond voyage thither the next feafon; when he freighted two veffels home with this black ftone and in 1578, his project was fo rifen in credit, that he fet fail a third time with fifteen good fhips; and freighted them all, homewards, out of the faid mines. But, to fee the cdd fate that too often attends fuch difcoveries! Tho' the profpect of immenfe treasures was at first fo plausible, that it was given out with cer tainty, Cataia was Solomon's Ophir; yet, on a fevere trial, this boafted gold- ore prov'd to be mere drofs: and that falling fhort of the expected value, and the adventurers of their expected gains, the project fell fo low in repute, that Cataians and Frobishers became bywords for fuch vain boafters, as promis'd more than they could make out, and therefore deferv'd not to be credited.

Enter

Enter Mistress Quickly.

Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her, fhe'll fit it. Mrs. Page. You are come to fee my daughter Ann? Quic. Ay, forfooth; and, I pray, how does good mistress Ann?

Mrs. Page. Go in with us, and fee; we have an hour's talk with you.

[Exe. Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Mrs. Quic. Page. How now, mafter Ford?

Ford. You heard what this knave told me, did you not? Page. Yes; and heard what the other told me? Ford. Do you think there is truth in them?

you

Page. Hang 'em, flaves; I do not think, the Knight would offer it; but thefe, that accufe him in his intent towards our wives, are a yoak of his difcarded men; very rogues, now they be out of fervice.

Ford. Were they his men ?

Page. Marry, were they.

Ford. I like it never the better for that. Does he lie at the Garter?

Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend his voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loofe to him; and what he gets more of her than tharp words, let it lie on my head.

Ford. I do not mifdoubt my wife, but I would be loth to turn them together; a man may be too confident; I would have nothing lie on my head; I cannot be thus fatisfy'd.

Page. Look, where my ranting Host of the Garter comes; there is either liquor in his pate, or money in his purfe, when he looks fo merrily. How now, mine

Hoft?

Enter Hoft and Shallow.

Hoft. How now, bufly Rock? thou'rt a gentleman, cavalerio-juftice, I fay.

Shal. I follow, mine Hoft, I follow. Good even, and twenty, good mafter Page. Mafter Page, will you go with us? we have sport in hand..

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Heft. Tell him, cavaliero-juftice; tell him, bully Rock. Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir High the Welch prieft, and Caius the French doctor. Ford. Good mine Hoft o' th' Garter, a word with you. Hot. What fay'ft thou, bully Rock?

Shal. Will you go with us to behold it; my merry Hoft hath had the measuring of their weapons, and, I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, believe me, I hear, the parfon is no jefter. Hark, I will tell you what our sport shall be.

Hof. Haft thou no fuit against my Knight, my gueft-cavalier?

Ford. None, I proteft; but I'll give you a pottle of burnt fack to give me recourfe to him, (13) and tell him my name is Brook; only for a jeft.

Hoft. My hand, bully thou shalt have egrefs and regrefs; faid I well? and thy name fhall be Brook. It is a merry Knight. (14) Will you go an-heirs? Shal. Have with you, mine Hoft.

Page. I have heard, the Frenchman hath good skill in his rapier.

(13) And tell him, my name is Brook ;] Thus both the old Quarto's; and thus moft certainly the Poet wrote. We need no better evidence, than the pun that Falfaff anon makes on the name, when Brok fends him fome burnt fack.

Such Brooks are welcome to me, that overflow with fuch liquor. The Players, in their editions, alter'd the name to Broom: But how far that name will fort w th that jeft, s fubmitted to common fenfe. Their fuccettors; however, of the ftage (like the old prieft, who had read mumpfimus in his breviary, inttead of fimpfimus, too long to think of altering it ) continue to this day to call him, mafter Broom.

(14) Will you go on-heirs? I can make nothing of this reading, which hath po Tels'd all the editions. The word is not to be traced; and, confequently, I am apt to fufpect, muß be corrupted. I should think, the Hoft meant to fay, either,

Will you go on, bere?

Pointing out the way, which was to lead them to the combatants; as he afterwards fays, Here, boys here, bere: shall we wag? Or,

Will you go, myn-beers?

i. e. my mafters; both thefe make plain fenfe; and are not remote from the traces of the text: but, without fome fuch alteration, the paffage feems utterly unintelligible to me.

Sbal.

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