Shakespeare's First Folio Part 55

Pist. Elues, list your names: Silence you aiery toyes.

Cricket, to Windsor-chimnies shalt thou leape; Where fires thou find'st vnrak'd, and hearths vnswept, There pinch the Maids as blew as Bill-berry, Our radiant Queene, hates s.l.u.ts, and s.l.u.ttery

Fal. They are Fairies, he that speaks to them shall die, Ile winke, and couch: No man their workes must eie

Eu. Wher's Bede? Go you, and where you find a maid That ere she sleepe has thrice her prayers said, Raise vp the Organs of her fantasie, Sleepe she as sound as carelesse infancie, But those as sleepe, and thinke not on their sins, Pinch them armes, legs, backes, shoulders, sides, & shins

Qu. About, about: Search Windsor Castle (Elues) within, and out.

Strew good lucke (Ouphes) on euery sacred roome, That it may stand till the perpetuall doome, In state as wholsome, as in state 'tis fit, Worthy the Owner, and the Owner it.

The seuerall Chaires of Order, looke you scowre With iuyce of Balme; and euery precious flowre, Each faire Instalment, Coate, and seu'rall Crest, With loyall Blazon, euermore be blest.

And Nightly-meadow-Fairies, looke you sing Like to the Garters-Compa.s.se, in a ring Th' expressure that it beares: Greene let it be, More fertile-fresh then all the Field to see: And, Hony Soit Qui Maly-Pence, write In Emrold-tuffes, Flowres purple, blew, and white, Like Saphire-pearle, and rich embroiderie, Buckled below faire Knight-hoods bending knee; Fairies vse Flowres for their characterie.

Away, disperse: But till 'tis one a clocke, Our Dance of Custome, round about the Oke Of Herne the Hunter, let vs not forget

Euan. Pray you lock hand in hand: your selues in order set: And twenty glow-wormes shall our Lanthornes bee To guide our Measure round about the Tree.

But stay, I smell a man of middle earth

Fal. Heauens defend me from that Welsh Fairy, Least he transforme me to a peece of Cheese

Pist. Vilde worme, thou wast ore-look'd euen in thy birth

Qu. With Triall-fire touch me his finger end: If he be chaste, the flame will backe descend And turne him to no paine: but if he start, It is the flesh of a corrupted hart

Pist. A triall, come

Eua. Come: will this wood take fire?

Fal. Oh, oh, oh

Qui. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire.

About him (Fairies) sing a scornfull rime, And as you trip, still pinch him to your time.

The Song.

Fie on sinnefull phantasie: Fie on l.u.s.t, and Luxurie: l.u.s.t is but a bloudy fire, kindled with vnchaste desire, Fed in heart whose flames aspire, As thoughts do blow them higher and higher.

Pinch him (Fairies) mutually: Pinch him for his villanie.

Pinch him, and burne him, and turne him about, Till Candles, & Star-light, & Moone-shine be out

Page. Nay do not flye, I thinke we haue watcht you now: Will none but Herne the Hunter serue your turne?

M.Page. I pray you come, hold vp the iest no higher.

Now (good Sir Iohn) how like you Windsor wiues?

See you these husband? Do not these faire yoakes Become the Forrest better then the Towne?

Ford. Now Sir, whose a Cuckold now?

Mr Broome, Falstaffes a Knaue, a Cuckoldly knaue, Heere are his hornes Master Broome: And Master Broome, he hath enioyed nothing of Fords, but his Buck-basket, his cudgell, and twenty pounds of money, which must be paid to Mr Broome, his horses are arrested for it, Mr Broome

M.Ford. Sir Iohn, we haue had ill lucke: wee could neuer meete: I will neuer take you for my Loue againe, but I will alwayes count you my Deere

Fal. I do begin to perceiue that I am made an a.s.se

Ford. I, and an Oxe too: both the proofes are extant

Fal. And these are not Fairies: I was three or foure times in the thought they were not Fairies, and yet the guiltinesse of my minde, the sodaine surprize of my powers, droue the grossenesse of the foppery into a receiu'd beleefe, in despight of the teeth of all rime and reason, that they were Fairies. See now how wit may be made a Iacke-a-Lent, when 'tis vpon ill imployment

Euans. Sir Iohn Falstaffe, serue Got, and leaue your desires, and Fairies will not pinse you

Ford. Well said Fairy Hugh

Euans. And leaue you your iealouzies too, I pray you

Ford. I will neuer mistrust my wife againe, till thou art able to woo her in good English

Fal. Haue I laid my braine in the Sun, and dri'de it, that it wants matter to preuent so grosse ore-reaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welch Goate too? Shal I haue a c.o.xcombe of Frize? Tis time I were choak'd with a peece of toasted Cheese

Eu. Seese is not good to giue putter; your belly is al putter

Fal. Seese, and Putter? Haue I liu'd to stand at the taunt of one that makes Fritters of English? This is enough to be the decay of l.u.s.t and late-walking through the Realme

Mist.Page. Why Sir Iohn, do you thinke though wee would haue thrust vertue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders, and haue giuen our selues without scruple to h.e.l.l, that euer the deuill could haue made you our delight?

Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? A bag of flax?

Mist.Page. A puft man?

Page. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intollerable entrailes?

Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Sathan?

Page. And as poore as Iob?

Ford. And as wicked as his wife?

Euan. And giuen to Fornications, and to Tauernes, and Sacke, and Wine, and Metheglins, and to drinkings and swearings, and starings? Pribles and prables?

Fal. Well, I am your Theame: you haue the start of me, I am deiected: I am not able to answer the Welch Flannell, Ignorance it selfe is a plummet ore me, vse me as you will

Ford. Marry Sir, wee'l bring you to Windsor to one Mr Broome, that you haue cozon'd of money, to whom you should haue bin a Pander: ouer and aboue that you haue suffer'd, I thinke, to repay that money will be a biting affliction

Page. Yet be cheerefull Knight: thou shalt eat a posset to night at my house, wher I will desire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughes at thee: Tell her Mr Slender hath married her daughter

Mist.Page. Doctors doubt that; If Anne Page be my daughter, she is (by this) Doctour Caius wife

Slen. Whoa hoe, hoe, Father Page

Page. Sonne? How now? How now Sonne, Haue you dispatch'd?

Slen. Dispatch'd? Ile make the best in Glostershire know on't: would I were hang'd la, else

Page. Of what sonne?

Slen. I came yonder at Eaton to marry Mistris Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not bene i'th Church, I would haue swing'd him, or hee should haue swing'd me. If I did not thinke it had beene Anne Page, would I might neuer stirre, and 'tis a Post-masters Boy

Page. Vpon my life then, you tooke the wrong

Slen. What neede you tell me that? I think so, when I tooke a Boy for a Girle: If I had bene married to him, (for all he was in womans apparrell) I would not haue had him

Page. Why this is your owne folly, Did not I tell you how you should know my daughter, By her garments?

Slen. I went to her in greene, and cried Mum, and she cride budget, as Anne and I had appointed, and yet it was not Anne, but a Post-masters boy

Mist.Page. Good George be not angry, I knew of your purpose: turn'd my daughter into white, and indeede she is now with the Doctor at the Deanrie, and there married

Cai. Ver is Mistris Page: by gar I am cozoned, I ha married oon Garsoon, a boy; oon pesant, by gar. A boy, it is not An Page, by gar, I am cozened