105 Mrs Ford. What shall I do? There is a gentleman my dear friend; and I fear not mine own shame so much as his peril: I had rather than a thousand pound he were out of the house.
Mrs Page. For shame! never stand ‘you had rather’ 110 [and] ‘you had rather:’ your husband’s here at hand; bethink you of some conveyance: in the house you cannot hide him. O, how have you deceived me! Look, here is a basket: if he be of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going 115 to bucking: or,—it is whiting-time,—send him by your two men to Datchet-mead.
Mrs Ford. He’s too big to go in there. What shall I do?
Fal. [Coming forward] Let me see’t, let me see’t, 120 O, let me see’t!—I’ll in, I’ll in. —Follow your friend’s counsel. —I’ll in.
Mrs Page. What, Sir John Falstaff! Are these your letters, knight?
Fal. [I love thee]. —Help me away. —Let me creep in III. 3.
125 here. —I’ll never— [Gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen.]
Mrs Page. Help to cover your master, boy. —Call your men, Mistress Ford. —You dissembling knight!
Mrs Ford. What, [John! Robert!] John!