Simple. 
’Tis a great charge to come under one body’s hand.

Quickly.  Are you avis’d o’ that?  You shall find it a great charge; and to be up early and down late; but notwithstanding,—­to tell you in your ear,—­I would have no words of it—­my master himself is in love with Mistress Anne Page; but notwithstanding that, I know Anne’s mind, that’s neither here nor there.

Caius.  You jack’nape; give-a dis letter to Sir Hugh; by gar, it is a shallenge:  I will cut his troat in de Park; and I will teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest to meddle or make.  You may be gone; it is not good you tarry here:  by gar, I will cut all his two stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone to throw at his dog.

[Exit simple.]

Quickly. 
Alas, he speaks but for his friend.

Caius.  It is no matter-a ver dat:—­do not you tell-a me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself?  By gar, I vill kill de Jack priest; and I have appointed mine host of de Jartiere to measure our weapon.  By gar, I vill myself have Anne Page.

Quickly. 
Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well.  We must give folks
leave to prate:  what, the good-jer!

Caius. 
Rugby, come to the court vit me.  By gar, if I have not Anne Page,
I shall turn your head out of my door.  Follow my heels, Rugby.

[Exeunt caius and Rugby.]

Quickly.  You shall have An fool’s-head of your own.  No, I know Anne’s mind for that:  never a woman in Windsor knows more of Anne’s mind than I do; nor can do more than I do with her, I thank heaven.

Fenton.
[Within.] Who’s within there? ho!

Quickly. 
Who’s there, I trow?  Come near the house, I pray you.

[Enter Fenton.]

Fenton. 
How now, good woman! how dost thou?

Quickly. 
The better, that it pleases your good worship to ask.

Fenton. 
What news? how does pretty Mistress Anne?

Quickly. 
In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and gentle; and one that
is your friend, I can tell you that by the way; I praise heaven for it.

Fenton. 
Shall I do any good, thinkest thou?  Shall I not lose my suit?

Quickly. 
Troth, sir, all is in His hands above; but notwithstanding, Master
Fenton, I’ll be sworn on a book she loves you.  Have not your worship
a wart above your eye?

Fenton. 
Yes, marry, have I; what of that?

Quickly.  Well, thereby hangs a tale; good faith, it is such another Nan; but, I detest, an honest maid as ever broke bread.  We had an hour’s talk of that wart; I shall never laugh but in that maid’s company;—­but, indeed, she is given too much to allicholy and musing.  But for you —­well, go to.

Fenton. 
Well, I shall see her to-day.  Hold, there’s money for thee; let me
have thy voice in my behalf:  if thou seest her before me, commend me.