The Merry Wives of Windsor | Page 9

not think the knight would offer it; but
these that accuse him in his intent towards our wives are a yoke of his
discarded men; very rogues, now they be out of service.
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 this voyage toward my
wife, I would turn her loose to him; and what he gets more of her than
sharp words, let it lie on my head.
FORD. I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to turn them
together. A man may be too confident. I would have nothing 'lie on my
head': I cannot be thus satisfied.
PAGE. Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes. There is
either liquor in his pate or money in his purse when he looks so
merrily.
[Enter HOST and SHALLOW.]
How now, mine host!
HOST. How now, bully-rook! Thou'rt a gentleman. Cavaliero-justice, I
say!
SHALLOW. I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even and twenty, good
Master Page! Master Page, will you go with us? We have sport in hand.
HOST. Tell him, cavaliero-justice; tell him, bully-rook.
SHALLOW. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh the
Welsh priest and Caius the French doctor.
FORD. Good mine host o' the Garter, a word with you.
HOST. What say'st thou, my bully-rook?

[They go aside.]
SHALLOW. [To PAGE.] Will you go with us to behold it? My merry
host hath had the measuring of their weapons; and, I think, hath
appointed them contrary places; for, believe me, I hear the parson is no
jester. Hark, I will tell you what our sport shall be. [They converse
apart.]
HOST. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my guest-cavaliero?
FORD. None, I protest: but I'll give you a pottle of burnt sack to give
me recourse to him, and tell him my name is Brook, only for a jest.
HOST. My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and regress; said I well?
and thy name shall be Brook. It is a merry knight. Will you go,
mynheers?
SHALLOW. Have with you, mine host.
PAGE. I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in his rapier.
SHALLOW. Tut, sir! I could have told you more. In these times you
stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, and I know not what: 'tis the
heart, Master Page; 'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the time with my long
sword I would have made you four tall fellows skip like rats.
HOST. Here, boys, here, here! Shall we wag?
PAGE. Have with you. I had rather hear them scold than fight.
[Exeunt HOST, SHALLOW, and PAGE.]
FORD. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so firmly on his
wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so easily. She was in his
company at Page's house, and what they made there I know not. Well, I
will look further into 't; and I have a disguise to sound Falstaff. If I find
her honest, I lose not my labour; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour well
bestowed.
[Exit.]

SCENE 2. A room in the Garter Inn.
[Enter FALSTAFF and PISTOL.]
FALSTAFF. I will not lend thee a penny.
PISTOL. Why then, the world's mine oyster, Which I with sword will
open. I will retort the sum in equipage.
FALSTAFF. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should lay my
countenance to pawn; I have grated upon my good friends for three
reprieves for you and your coach-fellow, Nym; or else you had looked

through the grate, like a geminy of baboons. I am damned in hell for
swearing to gentlemen my friends you were good soldiers and tall
fellows; and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took 't
upon mine honour thou hadst it not.
PISTOL. Didst not thou share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence?
FALSTAFF. Reason, you rogue, reason. Thinkest thou I'll endanger my
soul gratis? At a word, hang no more about me, I am no gibbet for you:
go: a short knife and a throng!--to your manor of Picht-hatch! go.
You'll not bear a letter for me, you rogue!--you stand upon your
honour!--Why, thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do to
keep the terms of my honour precise. I, I, I myself sometimes, leaving
the fear of God on the left hand, and hiding mine honour in my
necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge, and to lurch; and yet you, rogue,
will ensconce your rags, your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice
phrases, and your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your honour!
You will not do it, you!
PISTOL.