MISTRESS PAGE.
Be sure of that—two other husbands.
FORD.
Where had you this pretty weathercock?
MISTRESS PAGE.
I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my husband had him of. What do you call your knight’s name, sirrah?
ROBIN.
Sir John Falstaff.
FORD.
Sir John Falstaff!
MISTRESS PAGE.
He, he; I can never hit on’s name. There is such a league between my good man and he! Is your wife at home indeed?
FORD.
Indeed she is.
MISTRESS PAGE.
By your leave, sir, I am sick till I see her.
[Exeunt Mistress Page and Robin.]
FORD
Has Page any brains? Hath he any eyes? Hath he any thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty mile as easy as a cannon will shoot point-blank twelve score. He pieces out his wife’s inclination, he gives her folly motion and advantage. And now she’s going to my wife, and Falstaff’s boy with her. A man may hear this shower sing in the wind. And Falstaff’s boy with her! Good plots they are laid, and our revolted wives share damnation together. Well, I will take him, then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty from the so-seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page himself for a secure and wilful Actaeon, and to these violent proceedings all my neighbours shall cry aim. [Clock strikes.] The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance bids me search. There I shall find Falstaff. I shall be rather praised for this than mocked, for it is as positive as the earth is firm that Falstaff is there. I will go.