The Merry Wives of Windsor

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

M.Page. Why? did you take her in white?

Cai. I bee gar, and 'tis a boy: be gar, Ile raise all

Windsor

Ford. This is strange: Who hath got the right Anne?

Page. My heart misgiues me, here comes Mr Fenton.

How now Mr Fenton?

Anne. Pardon good father, good my mother pardon

Page. Now Mistris:

How chance you went not with Mr Slender?

M.Page. Why went you not with Mr Doctor, maid?

Fen. You do amaze her: heare the truth of it,

You would haue married her most shamefully,

Where there was no proportion held in loue:

The truth is, she and I (long since contracted)

Are now so sure that nothing can dissolue vs:

Th' offence is holy, that she hath committed,

And this deceit looses the name of craft,

Of disobedience, or vnduteous title,

Since therein she doth euitate and shun

A thousand irreligious cursed houres

Which forced marriage would haue brought vpon her

Ford. Stand not amaz'd, here is no remedie:

In Loue, the heauens themselues do guide the state,

Money buyes Lands, and wiues are sold by fate

Fal. I am glad, though you haue tane a special stand

to strike at me, that your Arrow hath glanc'd

Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heauen giue thee

ioy, what cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd

Fal. When night-dogges run, all sorts of Deere are

chac'd

Mist.Page. Well, I will muse no further: Mr Fenton,

Heauen giue you many, many merry dayes:

Good husband, let vs euery one go home,

And laugh this sport ore by a Countrie fire,

Sir Iohn and all

Ford. Let it be so (Sir Iohn:)

To Master Broome, you yet shall hold your word,

For he, to night, shall lye with Mistris Ford:

ExeuntFINIS. THE Merry Wiues of Windsor