you well, sir. [_Exit Caius._] My husband
will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff
as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying my daughter: but
'tis no matter; better a little chiding than a great deal of
heart-break. 10

_Mrs Ford._ Where is Nan now and her troop of fairies,
and the Welsh devil Hugh?

_Mrs Page._ They are all couched in a pit hard by
Herne's oak, with obscured lights; which, at the very instant
of Falstaff's and our meeting, they will at once 15
display to the night.

_Mrs Ford._ That cannot choose but amaze him.

_Mrs Page._ If he be not amazed, he will be mocked; if
he be amazed, he will every way be mocked.

_Mrs Ford._ We'll betray him finely. 20

_Mrs Page._ Against such lewdsters and their lechery
Those that betray them do no treachery.

_Mrs Ford._ The hour draws on. To the oak, to the
oak! [_Exeunt._

NOTES: V, 3

SCENE III.] SCENE II. Pope.
A street, &c.] [Another street, &c. Capell.]
12: _Hugh_] Capell. _Herne_ Ff Q3. _Evans_ Theobald (Thirlby conj.).
19: _every way_] F1 Q3. om. F2 F3 F4.

SCENE IV. _Windsor Park._

_Enter SIR HUGH EVANS disguised, with others as Fairies._

_Evans._ Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your
parts: be pold, I pray you; follow me into the pit; and
when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid you: come, come;
trib, trib. [_Exeunt._

NOTES: V, 4

SCENE IV.] SCENE II. continued in Pope.
3: _pid_] F1 Q3. _bid_ F2 F3 F4.

SCENE V. _Another part of the Park._

_Enter FALSTAFF disguised as Horne._

_Fal._ The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute
draws on. Now, the hot-blooded gods assist me! Remember,
Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; love set
on thy horns. O powerful love! that, in some respects,
makes a beast a man; in some other, a man a beast. You 5
were also, Jupiter, a swan for the love of Leda. O omnipotent
Love! how near the god drew to the complexion of a
goose!--A fault done first in the form of a beast;--O Jove,
a beastly fault! And then another fault in the semblance
of a fowl;--think on't, Jove; a foul fault! When gods have 10
hot backs, what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a
Windsor stag; and the fattest, I think, i' the forest. Send
me a cool rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my
tallow?--Who comes here? my doe?

_Enter MISTRESS FO