FORD.
Sir, I hear you are a scholar—I will be brief with you—and you have been a man long known to me, though I had never so good means as desire to make myself acquainted with you. I shall discover a thing to you, wherein I must very much lay open mine own imperfection. But, good Sir John, as you have one eye upon my follies, as you hear them unfolded, turn another into the register of your own, that I may pass with a reproof the easier, sith you yourself know how easy it is to be such an offender.
FALSTAFF.
Very well, sir, proceed.
FORD.
There is a gentlewoman in this town, her husband’s name is Ford.
FALSTAFF.
Well, sir.
FORD.
I have long loved her, and, I protest to you, bestowed much on her, followed her with a doting observance, engrossed opportunities to meet her, fee’d every slight occasion that could but niggardly give me sight of her, not only bought many presents to give her, but have given largely to many to know what she would have given. Briefly, I have pursued her as love hath pursued me, which hath been on the wing of all occasions. But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind or in my means, meed, I am sure, I have received none, unless experience be a jewel. That I have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath taught me to say this:
Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues,
Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.
FALSTAFF.
Have you received no promise of satisfaction at her hands?
FORD.
Never.
FALSTAFF.
Have you importuned her to such a purpose?
FORD.
Never.
FALSTAFF.
Of what quality was your love, then?