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Away, difperfe; but, 'till 'tis one o'clock,
Our dance of cuftom round about the Oak
Of Herne, the hunter, let us not forget.

Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand, yourfelves in
order fet:

And twenty glow-worms fhall our lanthorns be,
To guide our measure round about the tree.
But ftay, I fmell a man of middle earth.

Fal. Heav'ns defend me from that Welch fairy, left he transform me to a piece of cheese!

Eva. Vild worm, thou waft o'er-look'd ev'n in thy

birth.

Quic. With tryal-fire touch me his finger-end;
If he be chafte, the flame will back defcend,ben.
And turn him to no pain; but if he start,
It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.

Eva. A tryal, come.

[They burn him with their tapers, and pinch him. Come, with this wood take fire.

Fal. Oh, oh, oh!

Quic. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in defire; About him, fairies, fing a fcornful rhime: And, as you trip, ftill pinch him to your time. Eva. It is right, indeed, he is full of leacheries and iniquity.

3

The SON G.

Fie on finful phantafie,

Fie on luft and luxury!

Luft is but (a) i'th blood, a fire,

Kindled with unchafte defire,

Fed in heart, whofe flames afpire,

As thoughts to blow them, higher and higher,

The change of and into in, in the fecond verfe, is neceffary. For flow'rs worked, or purfled in the grafs, were not like faphire and pearl fimply, but faphire and pearl in embroidery. How the corrupt reading and was introduced into the text, we have fhewn above.

[(a) i'th blood, a fire, Oxford Editor.-Vulg. a bloody fire.]

Pinch him, fairies, mutually;

Pinch him for his villany:

Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about,
'Till candles, and ftar-light, and moon-fhine be out.

During this Song, they pinch him. Doctor Caius comes one way, and steals away a boy in green; Slender another way, and he takes away a boy in white; and Fenton comes, and fteals away Mrs. Anne Page. A noife of bunting is made within. All the Fairies run away. Falstaff pulls off his Buck's head, and rifes.

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Enter Page, Ford, &c. They lay hold on him. Page. Nay, do not fly; I think, We've watcht you

now;

Will none but Herne the hunter ferve your turn? Mrs. Page. I pray you, come; hold up the jeft no

higher.

Now, good Sir John, how like you Windfor wives? See you these, husbands? do not these fair Yoaks Become the Foreft better than the Town?

Ford. Now, Sir, who's a cuckold now? master Brook, Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave, here are his horns, master Brook; and, master Brook, he hath enjoy'd nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of mony, which must be paid to master Brook; his horfes are arrested for it, mafter Brook.

Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never meet, I will never take you for my love again, but I will always count you my deer.

Fal. I do begin to perceive, that I am made an afs. Ford. Ay, and an ox too: both the proofs are ex

tant.

Fal. And these are not fairies? I was three or four times in the thought, they were not fairies; and yet the

guiltiness

guiltinefs of my mind, the fudden furprize of my powers, drove the groffnefs of the foppery into a receiv'd belief, in defpight of the teeth of all rhime and reason, that they were fairies. See now, how wit may be made a jack-a-lent, when 'tis upon ill imploy

ment!

Eva. Sir John Falstaff, ferve Got, and leave your defires, and fairies will not pinfe you.

Ford. Well faid, fairy Hugh.

Eva. And leave you your jealoufies too, I pray you. Ford. I will never miftruft my wife again, 'till thou art able to woo her in good English.

Fal. Have I laid my brain in the fun and dry'd it, that it wants matter to prevent fo grofs o'er-reaching as this? am I ridden with a Welch goat too? fhall I have a coxcomb of frize? 'tis time, I were choak'd with a piece of toasted cheese.

Eva. Seefe is not good to give putter; your pelly is all putter.

Fal. Seefe and putter? have I liv'd to ftand in the taunt of one, that makes fritters of English? this is enough to be the decay of luft and late-walking, through the Realm.

Mrs. Page. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would have thruft virtue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves without fcruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made our delight?

Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax?
Mrs. Page. A puft man?

you

Page. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable en

trails?

Ford. And one that is as flanderous as Satan?
Page. And as poor as Job?

Ford. And as wicked as his wife?

Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and facks, and wines, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and fwearings, and ftarings, pribbles and prabbles?

Fal.

Fal. Well, I am your theme; you have the start of me; I am dejected; 7 I am not able to answer the Welch flannel; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me; ufe me as you will.

Ford. Marry, Sir, we'll bring you to Windsor to one Mr. Brook, that you have cozen'd of mony, to whom you fhould have been a pander: over and above that you have fuffer'd, I think, to repay that mony will be a biting affliction.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let That go to make amends:

Forgive that Summ, and fo we'll all be Friends. Ford. Well, here's my hand; all's forgiven at last. Page. Yet be cheerful, Knight; thou fhalt eat a poffet to night at my house, where I will defire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her, Mr. Slender hath marry'd her daughter.

Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that; if Anne Page be my daughter, fhe is, by this, Doctor Caius's wife. [Afide.

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Slen. What hoe! hoe! father Page.

Page. Son, how now? how now, fon, have you difpatch'd?

Slen. Difpatch'd? I'll make the beft in Gloucesterfhire known on't; would I were hang'd la, else. Page. Of what, fon?

7 I am not able to answer the Welch FLANNEL.] Shakespear poffibly wrote Welch FLAMEN. As Sir Hugh was a choloric Prieft, and apt to take fire, FLAMEN was a very proper name, it being given to that order of Latin priefts from the flame-coloured habit. By the fame kind of humour the fcullion, in The Comedy of Errors, is called the Kitchen-Veftal, it being her business to keep the fire in repair.

Slen.

Slen. I came yonder at Eaton to marry mistress Anne Page, and fhe's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i'th church, I would have fwing'd him, or he fhould have fwing'd me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never ftir, and 'tis a post-master's boy.

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Page. Upon my life,

life, then you took the wrong. Slen. What need you tell me that? I think fo, when I took a boy for a girl: if I had been marry'd to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him.

Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you, how you should know my daughter by her gar

ments?

Slen. I went to her in white and cry'd mum, and The cry'd budget, as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's-boy.

Eva. Jefhu! Mafter Slender, cannot you fee but marry boys?

Page. O, I am vext at heart. What fhall I do? Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry; I knew of your purpose, turn'd my daughter into green, and, indeed, fhe is now with the Doctor at the Deanry, and there married.

SCE NE

Enter Caius.

VII.

Caius. Ver is mistress Page? by gar, I am cozen'd; I ha' marry'd one garfoon, a boy; one peasant, by gar; a boy; it is not Anne Page; by gar, I am cozen'd.

Mrs. Page. Why? did you not take her in green? Caius. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy; be gar, I'll raise all Windfor.

Ford. This is ftrange! who hath got the right Anne?
Page. My heart mifgives me; here comes Mr. Fenton.

Enter

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