125

[_Gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen._

_Mrs Page._ Help to cover your master, boy. --Call your
men, Mistress Ford. --You dissembling knight!

_Mrs Ford._ What, John! Robert! John! [_Exit Robin._

_Re-enter _Servants_._

Go take up these clothes here quickly. --Where's the cowl-staff?
look, how you drumble!--Carry them to the laundress 130
in Datchet-mead; quickly, come.

_Enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS._

_Ford._ Pray you, come near: if I suspect without cause,
why then make sport at me; then let me be your jest;
I deserve it. --How now! whither bear you this?

_Serv._ To the laundress, forsooth. 135

_Mrs Ford._ Why, what have you to do whither they
bear it? You were best meddle with buck-washing.

_Ford._ Buck!--I would I could wash myself of the buck!--Buck,
buck, buck! Ay, buck; I warrant you, buck; and
of the season too, it shall appear.

[_Exeunt Servants with the basket._] 140

Gentlemen, I have dreamed to-night; I'll tell you
my dream. Here, here, here be my keys: ascend my chambers;
search, seek, find out: I'll warrant we'll unkennel the
fox. Let me stop this way first. [_Locking the door._] So,
now uncape. 145

_Page._ Good Master Ford, be contented: you wrong
yourself too much.

_Ford._ True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen; you shall
see sport anon: follow me, gentlemen. [_Exit._

_Evans._ This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies. 150

_Caius._ By gar, 'tis no the fashion of France; it is not
jealous in France.

_Page._ Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of
his search. [_Exeunt Page, Caius, and Evans._

_Mrs Page._ Is there not a double excellency in this? 155

_Mrs Ford._ I know not which pleases me better, that
my husband is deceived, or Sir John.

_Mrs Page._ What a taking was he in when your husband
asked who was in the basket!

_Mrs Ford._ I am half afraid he will have need of washing; 160
so throwing him into the water will do him a benefit.

_Mrs Page._ Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of
the same strain were in the same distress.

_Mrs Ford._ I think my husband hath some special suspicion
of Falstaff's being here; for I never saw him so gross 165
in his jealousy till now.

_Mrs Page._ I will lay a plot to tr