MISTRESS PAGE.
Alas, three of Master Ford’s brothers watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue out, otherwise you might slip away ere he came. But what make you here?
FALSTAFF.
What shall I do? I’ll creep up into the chimney.
MISTRESS FORD.
There they always use to discharge their birding-pieces.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Creep into the kiln-hole.
FALSTAFF.
Where is it?
MISTRESS FORD.
He will seek there, on my word. Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his note. There is no hiding you in the house.
FALSTAFF.
I’ll go out then.
MISTRESS PAGE.
If you go out in your own semblance, you die, Sir John—unless you go out disguised.
MISTRESS FORD.
How might we disguise him?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Alas the day, I know not. There is no woman’s gown big enough for him; otherwise he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape.