Ford. Old woman! what old woman’s that?
IV. 2.
150 Mrs Ford. Why, it is my maid’s aunt of [Brentford].
Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does she? We are simple men; we do not know what’s brought to pass under the profession of fortune-telling. She works 155 by charms, by spells, by the figure, and such daubery as this is, beyond our element: we know nothing. Come down, you witch, you hag, you; come down, I say!
Mrs Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband!—Good gentlemen, let him [not] strike the old woman.
[Re-enter Falstaff in woman’s clothes, and Mistress Page.]
160 Mrs Page. Come, Mother Prat; come, give me your hand.
Ford. I’ll prat her. [Beating him] Out of my door, you witch, you [hag], you baggage, you polecat, you ronyon! out, out! I’ll conjure you, I’ll fortune-tell you.
Exit Falstaff.
165 Mrs Page. Are you not ashamed? I think you have killed the poor woman.
Mrs Ford. Nay, he will do it. ’Tis a goodly credit for you.