Host.
Which means she to deceive, father or mother?
Fenton.
Both, my good host, to go along with me:
And here it rests, that you’ll procure the vicar
To stay for me at church, ’twixt twelve and
one,
And in the lawful name of marrying,
To give our hearts united ceremony.
Host.
Well, husband your device; I’ll to the vicar.
Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest.
Fenton.
So shall I evermore be bound to thee;
Besides, I’ll make a present recompense.
[Exeunt.]
Scene 1. A room in the Garter Inn.
[Enter Falstaff and mistress quickly.]
Falstaff.
Prithee, no more prattling; go: I’ll hold.
This is the third time;
I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. Away! go.
They say there is
divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance,
or death. Away!
Quickly.
I’ll provide you a chain, and I’ll do
what I can to get you a pair
of horns.
Falstaff.
Away, I say; time wears; hold up your head, and mince.
[Exit Mrs. Quickly.]
[Enter ford.]
How now, Master Brook! Master Brook, the matter
will be known tonight, or never. Be you in the
Park about midnight, at Herne’s oak, and you
shall see wonders.
Ford.
Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me
you had appointed?
Falstaff. I went to her, Master Brook,
as you see, like a poor old man; but I came from her,
Master Brook, like a poor old woman. That same
knave Ford, her husband, hath the finest mad devil
of jealousy in him, Master Brook, that ever governed
frenzy. I will tell you: he beat me grievously
in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man,
Master Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver’s
beam, because I know also life is a shuttle.
I am in haste; go along with me; I’ll tell you
all, Master Brook. Since I plucked geese, played
truant, and whipped top, I knew not what ’twas
to be beaten till lately. Follow me: I’ll
tell you strange things of this knave Ford, on whom
to-night I will be revenged, and I will deliver his
wife into your hand. Follow. Strange things
in hand, Master Brook! Follow.
[Exeunt.]
Scene 2. Windsor Park.
[Enter page, shallow, and slender.]
Page.
Come, come; we’ll couch i’ the castle-ditch
till we see the light
of our fairies. Remember, son Slender, my daughter.
Slender. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with
her, and we have a nay-word how to know one another.
I come to her in white and cry ‘mum’; she
cries ‘budget,’ and by that we know one
another.
Shallow.
That’s good too; but what needs either your
‘mum’ or her ‘budget’?
The white will decipher her well enough. It hath
struck ten o’clock.
