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is enough to be the decay of lust, and late-walking, through the realm.
Mrs. Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our delight?
Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax?
Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable entrails?
Ford. And as wicked as his wife?
Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles?
Fal. Well, I am your theme: you have the start of me; I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welch flannel. Ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me: use me as you will.
Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to whom you should have been a pander: over and above that you have suffered, I think, to repay that money will be a biting affliction.
Page. Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat a posset to-night at my house; where I will desire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her, master Slender hath married her daughter.
Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that: if Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife. [Aside.
to repay that money will be a biting affliction.] Here the quartos add what may be worth giving in a note.—
"Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make amends:
Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends.
Ford. Well, here's my hand: all's forgiven at last.
Fal. It hath cost me well: I have been well pinched and wash'd.”
Slen. Whoo, ho! ho! father Page!
Page. Son, how now! how now, son! have you despatched?
Slen. Despatched!-I'll make the best in Gloucestershire know on't; would I were hanged, la, else.
Page. Of what, son?
Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy: if it had not been i' the church, I would have swinged him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 'tis a post-master's boy.
Page. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong. Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I took a boy for a girl: if I had been married 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 garments?
Slen. I went to her in white', and cried, "mum,” and she cried "budget," as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy.
Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: I knew of your purpose; turned my daughter into green; and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married.
Enter Doctor CAIUS.
Caius. Vere is mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened; I ha' married un garçon, a boy; un paisan, by
in WHITE,] The folios read, in green; and in the two subsequent speeches of Mrs. Page, instead of green we find white. The corrections, which are fully justified by what has preceded, were made by Pope.
gar, a boy it is not Anne Page; by gar, I am cozened.
Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green ?
Caius. Ay, by gar, and 'tis a boy: by gar, I'll raise all Windsor.
Ford. This is strange.
Who hath got the right
Page. My heart misgives me.
Here comes master
Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE.
How now, master Fenton!
Anne. Pardon, good father! good my mother, pardon! Page. Now, mistress; how chance you went not with master Slender?
Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doctor, maid?
Fent. You do amaze her: hear the truth of it.
Of disobedience, or unduteous title,
A thousand irreligious cursed hours,
Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.
Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy.
What cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd.
Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are
Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no farther.-Master
Heaven give you many, many merry days.—
Ford. Let it be so.-Sir John,
To master Brook you yet shall hold your word;
END OF VOL. I.
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS ST. JOHN'S SQUARE.