Mrs. Page. 
Let’s consult together against this greasy knight.  Come hither.

[They retire.]

[Enter ford, pistol, and page and Nym.]

Ford. 
Well, I hope it be not so.

Pistol. 
Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs: 
Sir John affects thy wife.

Ford. 
Why, sir, my wife is not young.

Pistol. 
He woos both high and low, both rich and poor,
Both young and old, one with another, Ford;
He loves the gallimaufry.  Ford, perpend.

Ford. 
Love my wife!

Pistol. 
With liver burning hot:  prevent, or go thou,
Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels.—­
O! odious is the name!

Ford. 
What name, sir?

Pistol. 
The horn, I say.  Farewell: 
Take heed; have open eye, for thieves do foot by night;
Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing. 
Away, Sir Corporal Nym. 
Believe it, Page; he speaks sense.

[Exit pistol.]

Ford.
[Aside] I will be patient:  I will find out this.

Nym. [To page] And this is true; I like not the humour of lying.  He hath wronged me in some humours:  I should have borne the humoured letter to her; but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon my necessity.  He loves your wife; there’s the short and the long.  My name is Corporal Nym; I speak, and I avouch ’tis true.  My name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife.  Adieu.  I love not the humour of bread and cheese; and there’s the humour of it.  Adieu.

[Exit Nym.]

Page.
[Aside.] ‘The humour of it,’ quoth ’a!  Here’s a fellow frights
English out of his wits.

Ford. 
I will seek out Falstaff.

Page. 
I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.

Ford. 
If I do find it:  well.

Page. 
I will not believe such a Cataian, though the priest o’ the town
commended him for a true man.

Ford. 
’Twas a good sensible fellow:  well.

Page. 
How now, Meg!

Mrs. Page. 
Whither go you, George?—­Hark you.

Mrs. Ford. 
How now, sweet Frank! why art thou melancholy?

Ford. 
I melancholy!  I am not melancholy.  Get you home, go.

Mrs. Ford. 
Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.  Will you go,
Mistress Page?

Mrs. Page. 
Have with you.  You’ll come to dinner, George?
[Aside to Mrs. Ford] Look who comes yonder:  she shall be our
messenger to this paltry knight.

Mrs. Ford.
[Aside to Mrs. Page] Trust me, I thought on her:  she’ll fit it.

[Enter mistress quickly.]