Come you to me at
night; you shall know how I speed.
FORD. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you know Ford,
Sir?
FALSTAFF. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know him
not; yet I wrong him to call him poor; they say the
jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money; for the which
his wife seems to me well-favour'd. I will use her as the
key of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer; and there's my
harvest-home.
FORD. I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might avoid him
if you saw him.
FALSTAFF. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will
stare him out of his wits; I will awe him with my cudgel;
it shall hang like a meteor o'er the cuckold's horns. Master
Brook, thou shalt know I will predominate over the
peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon at
night. Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his style; thou,
Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and cuckold.
Come to me soon at night. Exit
FORD. What a damn'd Epicurean rascal is this! My heart is
ready to crack with impatience.
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