of the Garter comes. There is either liquor in his pate, or money in his purse, when he looks so merrily. How now, mine host?
Host. How now, bully-rook? thou’rt a gentleman. Cavaleiro Justice, I say!
[Enter] Shallow.
Shal. 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, Cavaleiro Justice; tell him, bully- rook.
Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh the Welsh priest and Caius the French doctor.
Ford. Good mine host o’ th’ Garter, a word with you.
Host. What say’st thou, my bully-rook?
[Ford and the Host talks.]
Shal. [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-cavalier?
[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, An-heires?
Shal. Have with you, mine host.
Page. I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in his rapier.
Shal. 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 wive’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 labor; if she be otherwise, ’tis labor well bestow’d.
Exit.
¶
Scene II
Enter Falstaff, Pistol.
[Pist.] I will retort the sum in equipage.]
Fal. I will not lend thee a penny.
Pist.
Why then the world’s mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open.
Fal. 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 look’d through the grate, like a geminy of baboons. I am damn’d 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 honor thou hadst it not.
Pist.
Didst not thou share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence?
Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason; think’st 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 Pickt-hatch! Go. You’ll not bear a letter for me, you rogue? You stand upon your honor! Why, thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do to keep the terms of my honor precise. I, I, I myself sometimes, leaving the fear of [God] on the left hand, and hiding mine honor 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 honor! You will not do it? You!
Pist. I do relent. What would thou more of man?
[Enter] Robin.
Rob. Sir, here’s a woman would speak with you.
Fal. Let her approach.
[Enter Mistress] Quickly.
Quick. Give your worship good morrow.
Fal. Good morrow, goodwife.
Quick. Not so, and’t please your worship.
Fal. Good maid then.
Quick.
I’ll be sworn,
As my mother was the first hour I was born.
Fal. I do believe the swearer. What with me?
Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two?
Fal. Two thousand, fair woman, and I’ll vouchsafe thee the hearing.
Quick. There is one Mistress Ford, sir—I pray come a little nearer this ways. I myself dwell with Master Doctor Caius—
Fal. Well, on. Mistress Ford, you say—
Quick. Your worship says very true. I pray your worship come a little nearer this ways.
Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears—mine own people, mine own people.
Quick. Are they so? [God] bless them and make them his servants!
Fal. Well; Mistress Ford, what of her?
Quick. Why, sir, she’s a good creature. Lord, Lord, your worship’s a wanton! Well—heaven forgive you, and all of us, I pray—
Fal. Mistress Ford; come, Mistress Ford—
Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long of it: you have brought her into such a canaries as ’tis wonderful. The best courtier of them all (when the court lay at Windsor) could never have brought
