The Merry Wives of Windsor | Page 8

Well, I hope it be not so.
PISTOL. Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs: Sir John affects thy wife.
FORD. Why, sir, my wife is not young.
PISTOL. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor, Both young and old, one with another, Ford; He loves the gallimaufry. Ford, perpend.
FORD. Love my wife!
PISTOL. With liver burning hot: prevent, or go thou, Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels.-- O! odious is the name!
FORD. What name, sir?
PISTOL. The horn, I say. Farewell: Take heed; have open eye, for thieves do foot by night; Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing. Away, Sir Corporal Nym. Believe it, Page; he speaks sense.
[Exit PISTOL.]
FORD. [Aside] I will be patient: I will find out this.
NYM. [To PAGE] And this is true; I like not the humour of lying. He hath wronged me in some humours: I should have borne the humoured letter to her; but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves your wife; there's the short and the long. My name is Corporal Nym; I speak, and I avouch 'tis true. My name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife. Adieu. I love not the humour of bread and cheese; and there's the humour of it. Adieu.
[Exit NYM.]
PAGE. [Aside.] 'The humour of it,' quoth 'a! Here's a fellow frights English out of his wits.
FORD. I will seek out Falstaff.
PAGE. I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.
FORD. If I do find it: well.
PAGE. I will not believe such a Cataian, though the priest o' the town commended him for a true man.
FORD. 'Twas a good sensible fellow: well.
PAGE. How now, Meg!
MRS. PAGE. Whither go you, George?--Hark you.
MRS. FORD. How now, sweet Frank! why art thou melancholy?
FORD. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you home, go.
MRS. FORD. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now. Will you go, Mistress Page?
MRS. PAGE. Have with you. You'll come to dinner, George? [Aside to MRS. FORD] Look who comes yonder: she shall be our messenger to this paltry knight.
MRS. FORD. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] Trust me, I thought on her: she'll fit it.
[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY.]
MRS. PAGE. You are come to see my daughter Anne?
QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne?
MRS. PAGE. Go in with us and see; we'd have an hour's talk with you.
[Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and MISTRESS QUICKLY.]
PAGE. How now, Master Ford!
FORD. You heard what this knave told me, did you not?
PAGE. Yes; and you heard what the other told me?
FORD. Do you think there is truth in them?
PAGE. Hang 'em, slaves! I do 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