Go take up these clothes here quickly. —Where’s the cowl-staff? 130 look, how you drumble!—Carry them to the laundress in Datchet-mead; quickly, come.
[Enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans.]
Ford. Pray you, come near: if I suspect without cause, why then make sport at me; then let me be your jest; I deserve it. —[How now!] whither bear you this?
135 Serv. To the laundress, forsooth.
Mrs Ford. Why, what have you to do whither they bear it? You were best meddle with buck-washing.
Ford. Buck!—I would I could wash myself of the buck!—Buck, buck, buck! Ay, buck; I warrant you, buck; and 140 of the season too, it shall appear. [Exeunt Servants with the basket.] Gentlemen, I have dreamed to-night; I’ll tell you my dream. Here, here, here be my keys: ascend my chambers; search, seek, find out: I’ll warrant we’ll unkennel the fox. Let me stop this way first. [Locking the door.] [So,] 145 [now uncape].
Page. Good Master Ford, be contented: you wrong yourself too much.
Ford. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen; you shall see sport anon: follow me, gentlemen. Exit.
III. 3.
150 Evans. This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies.
Caius. By gar, ’tis no the fashion of France; it is not jealous in France.