Raise up the Organs of her Fantasie,

Sleep she as found as careless Infancy;

But those that fleep and think not on their Sins,

Pinch them, Arms, Legs, Backs, Shoulders, Sides and Shins.

Quic. About, about;

Search Windsor Castle, Elves, within and out.

Strew good Luck, Ouphes, on every facred Room,

That it may stand 'till the perpetual Doom,
In State as wholesom, as in State 'tis fit,
Worthy the Owner, and the Owner it.
The several Chairs of Order look you scour,
With Juice of Balm and ev'ry precious Flow'r;
Each fair Instalment, Coat, and sev'ral Crest,
With loyal Blazon evermore be blest.
And nightly-medow-Fairies, look you fing
Like to the Garter-compass in a Ring:
Th' Expressure that it bears, Green let it be,
More fertile fresh than all the Field to fee;
And, Hony Soit Qui Mal-y-Pense write
In Emrold-tuffs, Flowers, purple, blue and white,
Like Saphire-pearl, and rich Embroidery,
Buckled below fair Knight-hoods bending Knee;
Fairies use Flow'rs for their Charactery.
Away, disperse; but 'till 'tis one a Clock
Our Dance of Custom round about the Oak
Of Herne the Hunter, let us not forget.

:

Eva. Pray you lock Hand in Hand, your selves in order fet:

And twenty Glow-worms shall our Lant-horns be
To guide our Measure round about the Tree.

But stay, I smell a Man of middle Earth.

Fal. Heav'ns defend me from the Welch Fairy,

Lest he transform me to a piece of Cheese.

Pift. Vild Worm, thou wast o'er-look'd even in thy

Birth.

Quic. With Trial-fire touch his Finger end;

If he be Chafte, the Flame will back descend

And turn him to no Pain; but if he start,

It is the Flesh of a corrupted Heart.

Pift. A Trial, come.

[They burn him with their Tapers, and pinch him.

Eva. Come, will this Wood take fire ?

Fal.

Fal. Oh, oh, oh.

Quic. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in Defire;
About him, Fairies, fing a scornful Rhime.
And as you trip, still pinch him to your time.

The Song.

Fie on fimple Phantasie: Fie on Lust and Luxury :
Lust is but a bloody Fire, kindled with unchaste Defire.
Fed in Heart whose Flames aspire,

As Thoughts do blow them higher and higher.
Pinch him, Fairies, mutually; pinch him for his Villany:
Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about,

'Till Candles, and Star-light, and Moon-Shine be out.

[He offers to run out.

Enter Page, Ford, &c. They lay hold on him.
Page. Nay, do not fly, I think I have watcht you now;
Will none but Herne the Hunter serve your turn?
Mrs. Page. I pray you come, hold up the Jest no higher.
Now, good Sir. John, how like you Windfor Wives?
See you these Husbands? Do not these fair Oaks
Become the Forest better than the Town?

Ford. Now, Sir, who's a Cuckold now.
Mr. Broom, Falstaff's a Knave, a cuckoldy Knave,
Here are his Horns, Master Broom;

And, Master Broom, he hath enjoy'd nothing of Ford
But his Buck-basket, his Cudgel, and twenty Pounds of
Mony, which must be paid to Mr. Broom; his Horses are
arrested for it, Mr. Broom.

Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill Luck; we could never meet. I will never take you for my Love again, but I will always count you my Deer.

Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an Afs.
Ford. Ay, and an Ox too: Both the Proofs are extant.
Fal. And these are not Fairies:

I was three or four times in the Thought they were not Fairies, and yet the guiltiness of my Mind, the sudden furprize of my Powers, drove the grosness of the Foppery into a receiv'd Belief, in despight of the Teeth of all Rhime and Reason, that they were Fairies. See now how Wit may be made a Jack-a-Lents when 'tis upon ill Imployment.

Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your De

fires, and Fairies will not pinse you.

Ford. Well faid, Fairy Hugh.

Eva. And leave you your Jealouzies too, I pray you. Ford. I will never mistrust my Wife again, 'till thou art able to woo her in good English.

Fal. Have I laid my Brain in the Sun and dry'd it, that it wants Matter to prevent so gross o'er-reaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welch Goat too? Shall I have a Coxcomb of Frize? 'Tis time I were choak'd with a piece of toafted Cheefe.

Eva. Seese is not good to give Putter; your Pelly is all

Putter.

Fal. Seefe and Putter ? Have I liv'd to stand in the taunt of one that makes Fritters of English? This is enough to be the decay of Lust and late-walking through the Realm.

Mrs. Page. Why Sir John, do you think, though we would have thrust Virtue out of our Hearts by the Head and Shoulders, and have given our selves without fcruple to Hell, that ever the Devil could have made you our Delight.

Ford. What, a Hodge-pudding? A Bag of Flax?
Mrs. Page. A poft Man?

Page. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable Entrails?
Ford. And one that is as flanderous as Satan?

Page. And as poor as Job?

Ford. And as wicked as his Wife?

Eva. And given to Fornications, and to Taverns, and Sack, and Wine, and Metheglin, and to Drinkings, and Swearings, and Staring? Pribbles and prabbles?

Fal. Well, I am your Theme; you have the Start of me, I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welch Flannel, Ignorance it felf is a Plummet o'er me, use me as you will.

Ford. Marry Sir, we'll bring you to Windsor to one Mr. Broom, that you have cozen'd of Mony, to whom you should have been a Pander: Over and above that you have suffer'd, I think, to repay that Mony will be a biting Af. fliction.

Page. Yet be cheerful, Knight, thou shalt eat a Poffet to Night at my House, where I will defire thee to laugh at

my

my Wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her Mr. Slender hath marry'd her Daughter.

Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that;

If Anne Page be my Daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Cains's Wife.

Enter Slender.

Slen. What hoe! hoe! Father Page!

Page. Son? How now? How now Son,

Have you dispatch'd?

Slen. Dispatch'd? I'll make the best in Gloucester shire know on't; would I were hang'd-la, elfe.

Page. Of what, Son?

Slen. I came yonder at Eaton to marry Mistress Anne Page, and the's a great lubberly Boy. If it had not been i'th' Church, I would have swing'd him, or he should have swing'd me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 'tis a Post-master's Boy.

Page. Upon my Life then you took the wrong.

Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I took a Boy for a Girl: If I had been marry'd to him, for all he was in Woman's Apparel, I would not have had him.

Page. Why, this is your own Folly.
Did not I tell you how you should know my Daughter
By her Garments?

Slen. I went to her in green and cry'd Mum, and the cry'd Budget, as Anne and I had appointed, and yet it was not Anne, but a Post-master's Boy.

Mrs. Page. Good George be not angry; I knew of your purpose, turn'd my Daughter into white, and indeed the is now with the Doctor at the Deanery, and there marry'd. Enter Caius.

Caius. Ver is Mistress Page; by gar I am cozon'd, I ha marry'd one Garfoon, a Boe; oon Pesant, by gar. A Boy, it is not Anne Page, by gar, I am cozon'd.

Mrs. Page. Why? Did you take her in white?

Caius. Ay be gar, and 'tis a Boy; be gar, I'll raise all Windfor.

Ford. This is strange? who hath got the right Anne? Page. My Heart mifgives me; here comes Mr. Fenton. How now Mr. Fenton?

Anne.

Anne. Pardon, good Father; good my Mother, Pardon. Page. Now Mistress,

How chance you went not with Mr. Slender?

Mrs. Page. Why went you not with Mr. Doctor, Maid?
Fent. You do amaze her. Hear the Truth of it:

You would have marry'd her most shamefully,
Where there was no proportion held in Love:
The Truth is, the and I, long fince contracted,
Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us.
Th' Offence is holy that she hath committed,
And this Deceit loses the name of Craft,
Of Difobedience, or unduteous Title;
Since therein she doth evitate and shun
A thousand irreligious cursed Hours
Which forced Marriage would have brought upon her.
Ford. Stand not amaz'd, here is no Remedy.
In Love, the Heav'ns themselves do guide the State;
Mony buys Lands, and Wives are fold by Fate.

Fal. I am glad, tho' you have ta'en a special Stand to ftrike at me, that your Arrow hath glanc'd.

Page. Well, what Remedy? Fenton, Heav'n give thee Joy; what cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd.

Fal. When Night-dogs run, all forts of Deer are chac'd.
Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no more further: Mr. Fenton,

Heav'n give you many, many merry Days.
Good Husband, let us every one go home,
And laugh this Sport o'er by a Country Fire,

Sir John and all.

Ford. Let it be so, Sir John:

To Master Broom you yet shall hold your Word;

For he, to Night, shall lye with Mistress Ford.

[Exeunt.