See you thefe, husbands? do not these fair yoaks (33) become the foreft better than the town? Ford. Now, Sir, who's a cuckold now ? master Brook, Falftaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave, here are his horns, mafter Brook; and mafter Brook, he hath enjoy'a nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money, which must be paid to mafter Brook; his horfes are arrested for it, mafter Brook. Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never meet. I will never take you for my love again, but I will always count you my deer. Fal. I do begin to perceive, that I am made an afs. Ford. Ay, and an ox too: both the proofs are extant. Fal. And these are not fairies? I was three or four times in the thought, they were not fairies; and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the fudden furprize of my powers, drove the groffness of the foppery into a receiv'd belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhime and reason, that they were fairies. See now, how wit may be made a jack-a-lent, when 'tis upon ill employment. Eva. Sir John Falstaff, ferve Got, and leave your defires, and faries will not pinfe you. Ford. Well faid, fairy Hugh. Eva. And leave you your jealoufies too, I pray you. Ford. I will never miftruft my wife again, 'till thou art able to woo her in good English. Fal. Have I laid my brain in the fun and dry'd it, that it wants matter to prevent fo grofs o'er-reaching as this? am I ridden with a Welsh goat too? fhall I have a coxcomb of frize? 'tis time, I were choak'd with a piece of toasted cheese. (33) See you thefe bufbands? Do not these fair oaks Become the foreft better than the town?] What oaks, in the name of nonfenfe, do our fagacious Editors make Mrs. Page talk of The oaks in the Park? But there was no intention of tranfplanting them into the town. -Me quidem pudet, pigetque. The first Folio reads, as the Poet intended, yoaks: and Mrs. Page's meaning is this. She speaks to her own, and Mrs. Ford's husband, and asks them, if they fee the borns in Falstaff's hand; and then alluding to them as the types of cuckoldom, puts the question, whether thofe yoaks are not more proper in the foreft than in the town: i. e. than in their families, as a reproach to them. Eva Eva. Seefe is not good to give putter; your pelly is all putter. Fal. Seefe and putter? have I liv'd to stand in the taunt of one, that makes fritters of English? this is enough to be the decay of luft and late-walking, through the realm. Mrs. Page. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would have thruft virtue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves without fcruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our delight? Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax? (34) Page. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable entrails? Ford. And as wicked as his wife? Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and facks, and wines, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and fwearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles? Fal. Well, I am your theme; you have the start of me; I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welf flannel; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me; use me as you will. Ford. Marry, Sir, we'll bring you to Windfor to one Mr. Brook, that you have cozen'd of money, to whom you fhould have been a pander: over and above that you have fuffer'd, I think, to repay that money will be a biting affliction. (35) Mrs. Ford. Nay, hufband, let that go to make amends: Forgive that fum, and fo we'll all be friends. (34) What, a hog's pudding?] Mr. Pope has help'd us to this beg's pudding; all the other editions, which I have seen, have it rightly badge pudding, as it is vulgarly written and pronounc'd; the French call, to fhake, or jumble together, bocher: and they have a dish call'd, un boche-pot, which is a mixture of feveral forts of meats cook'd up together. They likewife call it, un pot pourri: (fays Rochelet) a difh, made up of feveral meats macerated: and fuch a gallimaufry, does Ford mean, is Falstaff. (35) Mrs. Ford. Nay, bufband,] This and the following little fpeech I have inferted from the old Quartos. The retrenchment, I prefume, Ford. Well, here's my hand; all's forgiven at laft. Page. Yet be chearful, Knight; thou shalt eat a poffet to-night at my houfe, where I will defire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her, Mr. Slender hath marry'd her daughter. Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that; if Ann Page be my daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Caius's wife. [Afide. Enter Slender. Slen. What hoe! hoe! father Page? Page. Son, how now? how now, fon, have you difpatch'd? Slen. Difpatch'd? I'll make the best in Gloucestershire know on't; would I were hang'd la, else. Page. Of what, fon? Slen. I came yonder at Eaton to marry mistress Ann Page, and fhe's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i' th' church, I would have fwing'd him, or he should have swing'd me. If I did not think it had been Ann Page, would I might never ftir, and 'tis a postmaster's boy. Page. Upon my life, then you took the wrong. Slen. What need you tell me that? I think fo, when I took a boy for a girl: if I had been marry'd to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him. Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you, how you should know my daughter by her gar ments? Slen. I went to her in white and cry'd mum, and fhe cry'd budget, as Ann and I had appointed, and yet it was not Ann, but a post-mafter's boy. Eva. Jefhu! mafter Slender, cannot you fee but marry boys? prefume, was by the Players; and an injudicious one, in my opinion. Sir John Falstaff is defign'd the favourite character in the play. His vices are the fubject of all the pleafantry: and he is fufficiently punish'd in being disappointed and expos'd. The expectation of his being perfecuted for the twenty pounds, gives the conclufion too tragical a turn. Befides, it is poetick juftice that Ford fhould fuftain this lofs, as a fine for his unreasonable jealousy. Page, Page. O, I am vext at heart. What shall I do? Mrs, Page. Good George, be not angry; I knew of your purpose, turn'd my daughter into green, and, indeed, he is now with the Doctor at the Deanry, and there married. Enter Caius. Caius. Ver is mistress Page? by gar, I am cozen'd; I ha' marry'd one garfoon, a boy; one peafant, by gar. A boy; it is not Ann Page; by gar, I am cozen'd. Mrs. Page. Why? did you not take her in green? Caius. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy; be gar, I'll raise all Windfor. Ford. This is ftrange! who hath got the right Ann? How now Mr. Fenton? Ann. Pardon, good father; good my mother, pardon. Page. Now, miftress, how chance you went not with Mr. Slender. Mrs. Page. Why went you not with Mr. Doctor, maid? Fen. You do amaze her: hear the truth of it. You would have married her most shamefully, Where there was no proportion held in love: The truth is, she and I, long fince contracted, Are now fo fure, that nothing can diffolve us. Th' offence is holy, that the hath committed; And this deceit lofes the name of craft, Of difobedience, or unduteous title; Since therein she doth evitate and fhun A thousand irreligious curfed hours, Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. In love, the heav'ns themfelves do guide the ftate; Fal. I am glad, tho' you have ta'en a special stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanc'd. Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heav'n give thee joy; What cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac’d. Eva. I will alfo dance and eat plums at your wedding. Fal. When night-dogs run, all forts of deer are chac❜d. Mrs. Page. Well I will mufe no further. Mr. Fenton, Heav'n give you many, many merry days. Good husband, let us every one go home, And laugh this fport o'er by a country fire, Sir John and all. Ford. Let it be fo: Sir John, To mafter Brook you yet fhall hold your word; [Exeunt omnes MEA |