FALSTAFF.
[Above.] How now, mine host?
HOST.
Here’s a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let her descend. My chambers are honourable. Fie! Privacy? Fie!
Enter Falstaff.
FALSTAFF.
There was, mine host, an old fat woman even now with me, but she’s gone.
SIMPLE.
Pray you, sir, was’t not the wise woman of Brentford?
FALSTAFF.
Ay, marry was it, mussel-shell. What would you with her?
SIMPLE.
My master, sir, my Master Slender, sent to her, seeing her go through the streets, to know, sir, whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain, had the chain or no.
FALSTAFF.
I spake with the old woman about it.
SIMPLE.
And what says she, I pray, sir?
FALSTAFF.
Marry, she says that the very same man that beguiled Master Slender of his chain cozened him of it.