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Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds jointure. Anne. Good mafter Shallow, let him woo for himself.
Shal. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for that. Good comfort; she calls you, coz: I'll leave you.
Anne. Now, master Slender.
Slen. My will? odd's-heart-lings, that's a pretty jest, indeed ! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heav'n; I am not such a fickly creature, I give heav'n praise.
Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you with me?
Slen. Truly, for my own part, I would little or nothing with you; your father and
uncle have made motions; if it be my luck, so; if not, happy man be his dole! they can tell you how things go better than I can; you may ask your father; here he
Enter Page, and mistrefs Page.
Fent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient.
Page. No, good master Fenton:
[Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. Quic. Speak to mistress Page.
Fent. Good mistress Page, for that I love your daughter
And not retire. Let me have your good will.
fool.. Mrs. Page. I mean it not; I seek you a better husband. Quic. That's my master, master doctor.
Ănne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i'th'earth, And bowl'd to death with turnips.
Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself, good master Fenton, I will not be your friend nor enemy: My daughter will I question how she loves you, And as I find her, so am I affected. 'Till then, farewel, fir; she must needs go in, Her father will be angry. [Ex. mistrefs Page, and Anne.
Fent. Farewel, gentle mistress; farewel, Nan.
Quic. This is my doing now. Nay, said I, will your child on a fool, or a physician? 'look on master Fenton: this is my doing.
Fent. I thank thee; and, I pray thee, once to-night Give my sweet Nan this ring: there's for thy pains.
Exit, Quic. Now heav'n fend thee good fortune! A kind heart he hath; a woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet, I would, my master had mistress Anne; or I would, master Slender had her; or, in footh, I would, master Fenton had her. I will do what I can for them all three; for so I have promis’d, and I'll be as good as my word, but speciously for master Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to fir John Falstaff from my two mistresses; what a beast am I to slack it! [Exit.
Enter Falstaff, and Bardolph. Fal. ARDOLPH, I say.
Bard Here, sir. Fal. Go, fetch me a quart of fack; put a toast in't. [Ex. Bard.]
Have I liv'd to be carry'd in a basket, like a barrow of butchers offal, and to be thrown into the Thames? well, if I be serv’d fuch another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out, and butter'd, and give them to a dog for a new-year's gift. The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse as they would have drown'd a bitch's blind puppies, fifteen i'th' litter; and you may know by my fize that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking: if the bottom were as deep as hell, I should down. I had been drown’d, but that the shore was shelvy and shallow; a death that I abhor; for the water swells a man: and what a thing should I have been when I had been swell’d! I should have been a mountain of mummy. [Enter Bard.] — Now, is the fack brew'd ?
Bard. Here's mistress Quickly, fir, to speak with you.
Fal. Come, let me pour in some fack to the Thames'- water; for my belly’s as cold as if I had swallow'd snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. Call her in.
Bard. Come in, woman.
Enter mistress Quickly. Quic. By your leave : I cry you mercy. Give your worship good-morrow.
Fal. Take away these chalices: go, brew me a pottle of fack finely. Bard. With
fir? Fal. Simple of itself: I'll no pullet-sperm in my brewage. How now?
Quic. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from mistress Ford.
Fal. Mistress Ford? I have had ford enough; I was thrown into the ford; I have my belly full of ford.
Quic. Alas the day! good heart, that was not her fault: she does so take on with her men; they mistook their erection.
Fal. So did I mine, to build on a foolish woman's promise.
Quic. Well, she laments, fir, for it, that it would yern your heart to see it. Her husband goes this morning a birding; she
desires you once more to come to her between eight and nine.
Fal. Well, I will visit her; tell her so, and bid her think what
Quic. I will tell her.
Fal. Now, master Brook, you come to know what hath pass’d
Ford. And you sped, fır?
Fal. No, master Brook; but the peaking cornuto her husband,
Ford. What, while you were there?
one mistress Page, gives intelligence of Ford's approach, and by her invention, and Ford's wife's direction, they convey'd me into a buck-basket.
Ford. A buck-basket?
Fal. Yea, a buck-basket; ramm’d me in with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, and greasy napkins; that, master Brook, there was the rankest compound of villanous smells that ever offended noftril.
Ford. And how long lay you there?
hear, master Brook, what I have suffer'd, to bring this woman to evil for your good. Being thus cramm’d in the basket, a couple of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were call’d forth by their mistress to carry me in the name of foul cloths to Datchet-lane; they took me on their shoulders, met the jealous knave their master in the door, who ask'd them once or twice what they had in their basket; I quak'd for fear, lest the lunatick knave would have search'd it; but fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held his hand. Well, on went he for a search, and away went I for foul cloths; but mark the sequel, master Brook; I suffer'd the pangs of three egregious deaths: first, an intolerable fright, to be detected by a jealous rotten bell-weather; next, to be compass’d like a good bilbo, in the circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head; and then, to be stop'd in, like a strong distillation, with stinking cloths that fretted in their own grease: think of that, a man of my kidney; think of that, that am as subject to heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution and thaw; it was a miracle to 'scape fuffocation. And in the height of this bath, when I was more than half stew'd in grease like a Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames
, and cool'd glowing hot in that surge, like a horse-lhoe; think of that; hissing hot; think of that, master Brook.
Ford. In good sadness, fir, I am sorry that for my fake you suffer'd all this. My suit is then desperate ; you'll undertake her no more?
Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her husband is this