The Merry Wives of Windsor | Page 7

the way; I praise heaven
for it.
FENTON. Shall I do any good, thinkest thou? Shall I not lose my suit?
QUICKLY. Troth, sir, all is in His hands above; but notwithstanding,
Master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a book she loves you. Have not your
worship a wart above your eye?
FENTON. Yes, marry, have I; what of that?
QUICKLY. Well, thereby hangs a tale; good faith, it is such another
Nan; but, I detest, an honest maid as ever broke bread. We had an
hour's talk of that wart; I shall never laugh but in that maid's
company;--but, indeed, she is given too much to allicholy and musing.
But for you --well, go to.
FENTON. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, there's money for thee; let
me have thy voice in my behalf: if thou seest her before me, commend
me.
QUICKLY. Will I? i' faith, that we will; and I will tell your worship
more of the wart the next time we have confidence; and of other
wooers.
FENTON. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now.
QUICKLY. Farewell to your worship.--[Exit FENTON.] Truly, an
honest gentleman; but Anne loves him not; for I know Anne's mind as
well as another does. Out upon 't, what have I forgot?
[Exit.]

ACT II.
SCENE 1. Before PAGE'S house
[Enter MISTRESS PAGE, with a letter.]
MRS. PAGE. What! have I scaped love-letters in the holiday-time of
my beauty, and am I now a subject for them? Let me see.
'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use Reason for his
precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor. You are not young, no
more am I; go to, then, there's sympathy: you are merry, so am I; ha! ha!
then there's more sympathy; you love sack, and so do I; would you
desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page, at the least, if
the love of soldier can suffice, that I love thee. I will not say, pity me:
'tis not a soldier-like phrase; but I say, Love me. By me, Thine own true
knight, By day or night, Or any kind of light, With all his might, For

thee to fight, JOHN FALSTAFF.'
What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked, wicked world! One that is
well-nigh worn to pieces with age to show himself a young gallant.
What an unweighed behaviour hath this Flemish drunkard picked, with
the devil's name! out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner
assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company! What should I
say to him? I was then frugal of my mirth:--Heaven forgive me! Why,
I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament for the putting down of men. How
shall I be revenged on him? for revenged I will be, as sure as his guts
are made of puddings.
[Enter MISTRESS FORD.]
MRS. FORD. Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to your house.
MRS. PAGE. And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look very ill.
MRS. FORD. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to show to the contrary.
MRS. PAGE. Faith, but you do, in my mind.
MRS. FORD. Well, I do, then; yet, I say, I could show you to the
contrary. O, Mistress Page! give me some counsel.
MRS. PAGE. What's the matter, woman?
MRS. FORD. O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect, I could
come to such honour!
MRS. PAGE. Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour. What is
it?--Dispense with trifles;--what is it?
MRS. FORD. If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment or so, I
could be knighted.
MRS. PAGE. What? thou liest. Sir Alice Ford! These knights will hack;
and so thou shouldst not alter the article of thy gentry.
MRS. FORD. We burn daylight: here, read, read; perceive how I might
be knighted. I shall think the worse of fat men as long as I have an eye
to make difference of men's liking: and yet he would not swear; praised
women's modesty; and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof to
all uncomeliness that I would have sworn his disposition would have
gone to the truth of his words; but they do no more adhere and keep
place together than the Hundredth Psalm to the tune of 'Greensleeves.'
What tempest, I trow, threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his
belly, ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? I think the
best way were to entertain him with hope, till the wicked fire of lust
have melted him in his own grease. Did you ever hear the like?

MRS. PAGE. Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and Ford
differs. To thy great