Eva. You are a very fimplicity 'oman; I pray you, peace. What is Lapis, William? Wil. A ftone. Eva. And what is a stone, William? Wil. A pebble. Eva. No, it is Lapis: I pray you, remember in your prain. Will. Lapis. Eva. That is a good William: what is he, William, that does lend articles? Will. Articles are borrow'd of the pronoun, and be thus declin'd, fingulariter nominativo, hic, hæc, boc. Eva. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, mark: genitivo, bujus: well, what is your accufative cafe? Will. Accufative, binc. Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, child; accufative, bung, bang, bog. Quic. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant you. Eva. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the focative cafe, William ? Will. O, vocativo, O. Eva. Remember, William, focative is caret. Eva. 'Oman, forbear. Mrs. Page. Peace. Eva. What is your genitive cafe plural, William? Eva. Ay. Will. Genitive, borum, barum, borum. Quic. 'Vengeance of Giney's cafe; fie on her! never name her, child, if fhe be a whore. Eva. For fhame, 'oman. Quic. You do ill to teach the child fuch words: he teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do fast enough of themselves; and to call horum; fie upon you! 1 Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunacies? haft thou no understandings for thy cafes, and the numbers of the genders? thou art as foolish chriftian creatures, as I would defire. Mrs. Page. Pry'thee, hold thy peace. Eva. Shew me now, William, fome declenfions of your pronouns. Will. Forfooth, I have forgot. Eva. It is, qui, quæ, quod; if you forget your quies, your ques and your quods, you must be preeches: go your ways and play, go. Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar, than I thought he was. Eva. He is a good fprag memory. Farewel, Mrs. Page. Mrs. Page. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long. Fal. S M CEN E II. Changes to Ford's Houfe. Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Ford. [Exeunt. Iftrefs Ford, your forrow hath eaten up my fufferance; I fee, you are obfequious in your love, and I profefs requital to a hair's breadth, not only, mistress Ford, in the fimple office of love, but in all the accouftrement, complement, and ceremony of it. But are you fure of your husband now? Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, fweet Sir John.. Mrs. Page. [within.] What hoa, goffip Ford! what hoa! Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, Sir John. [Exit Falstaff: Enter Mrs. Page. Mrs. Page. How now, fweet heart, who's at home befides your felf? VOL. I. Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people. Mrs. Ford. No, certainly-Speak louder. [Afide. here. Mrs. Ford. Why? Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes again; he fo takes on yonder with my husband, fo rails against all married mankind, fo curfes all Eve's daughters, of what complexion foever, and fo buffets himself on the forehead, crying, peer-cut, peer-out! that any madness I ever yet beheld feem'd but tameness, civility, and patience, to this diftemper he is in now; I am glad, the fat knight is not here. Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him? Mrs. Page. Of none but him; and fwears, he was carry'd out, the last time he search'd for him, in a basket; protefts to my husband, he is now here; and hath drawn him and the rest of their company from their sport, to make another experiment of his fufpicion; but I am glad, the knight is not here; now he shall fee his own foolery. Mrs. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page? Mrs. Page. Hard by, at ftreet's end, he will be here anon. Mrs. Ford. I am undone, the knight is here. Mrs. Page. Why, then thou art utterly fham'd, and he's but a dead man. What a woman are you ? away with him, away with him; better fhame than murther. Mrs. Ford. Which way fhould he go? how should I bestow him? fhall I put him into the basket again? SCENE Fal. No, I'll come no more i'th' basket: may I not go out, ere he come? Mrs. Page. Alas! alas! three of mafter Ford's brothers watch the door with piftols, that none fhould iffue out, otherwise you might flip away ere he came : but what make you here? Fal. What fhall I do? I'll creep up into the chim ney. Mrs. Ford. There they always ufe to discharge their birding-pieces; creep into the kill-hole. Fal. Where is it? Mrs. Ford. He will feek there, on my word: neither prefs, coffer, cheft, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for the remembrance of fuch places, and goes to them by his note; there is no hiding you in the house. Fal. I'll go out then. Mrs. Ford. If you go out in your own femblance, you die, Sir John, unless you go out disguis'd. How might we disguise him? Mrs. Page. Alas-the-day, I know not; there is no woman's gown big enough for him; otherwife, he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and fo escape. Fal. Good heart, devise something; any extremity, rather than mischief. Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brainford, has a gown above. Mrs. Page. On my word, it will ferve him; fhe's as big as he is, and there's her thrum hat, and her muffler too. Run up, Sir John. Mrs. Ford. Go, go, fweet Sir John; miftrefs Page and I will look fome linnen for your head. Y 2 Mrs. Page. Mrs. Page. Quick, quick, we'll come drefs you ftraight; put on the gown the while. [Exit Falstaff. Mrs. Ford. I would my husband would meet him in this fhape; he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford; he fwears, fhe's a witch, forbad her my house, and hath threatned to beat her. Mrs. Page. Heav'n guide him to thy husband's cudgel, and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards! Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming? Mrs. Page. Ay, in good fadness, is he; and talks of the basket too, however he hath had intelligence, Mrs. Ford. We'll try that; for I'll appoint my men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the door with it, as they did last time. go Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently; let's drefs him like the witch of Brainford. Mrs. Ford. I'll firft direct my men, what they fhall do with the basket; go up, I'll bring linnen for him straight. Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet, we cannot misuse him enough. We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do, 'Tis old but true, Still fwine eats all the draugh. Mrs. Ford. Go, Sirs, take the basket again on your fhoulders; your master is hard at door; if he bid you fet it down, obey him: quickly, dispatch. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford. Enter Servants with the basket. 1 Serv. Come, come, take up. 2 Serv. Pray heav'n, it be not full of the knight again. 1 Serv. I hope not. I had as lief bear fo much lead. SCENE |
