Mrs Page. I mean it not; I seek you a better husband.
Quick. That’s my master, master doctor.
85 [Anne.] Alas, I had rather be set quick i’ the earth,
And bowl’d to death with turnips!
Mrs Page. Come, trouble not yourself. Good Master Fenton,
I will not be your friend nor enemy:
My daughter will I question how she loves you,
90 And as I find her, so am I affected.
Till then farewell, sir: she must needs go in;
Her father will be [angry].