FALSTAFF.
Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish: I would thy husband were dead. I’ll speak it before the best lord: I would make thee my lady.
MISTRESS FORD.
I your lady, Sir John? Alas, I should be a pitiful lady.
FALSTAFF.
Let the court of France show me such another. I see how thine eye would emulate the diamond. Thou hast the right arched beauty of the brow that becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance.
MISTRESS FORD.
A plain kerchief, Sir John. My brows become nothing else, nor that well neither.
FALSTAFF.
By the Lord, thou art a traitor to say so. Thou wouldst make an absolute courtier, and the firm fixture of thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, if Fortune thy foe were not, Nature thy friend. Come, thou canst not hide it.
MISTRESS FORD.
Believe me, there’s no such thing in me.
FALSTAFF.
What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee there’s something extraordinary in thee. Come, I cannot cog and say thou art this and that, like a many of these lisping hawthorn buds that come like women in men’s apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple-time. I cannot. But I love thee, none but thee; and thou deservest it.
MISTRESS FORD.
Do not betray me, sir; I fear you love Mistress Page.
FALSTAFF.
Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the Counter gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek of a lime-kiln.
MISTRESS FORD.
Well, heaven knows how I love you, and you shall one day find it.