MRS. PAGE. Be sure of that-two other husbands.
FORD. Where had you this pretty weathercock?
MRS. PAGE. I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my
husband had him of. What do you call your knight's
name, sirrah?
ROBIN. Sir John Falstaff.
FORD. Sir John Falstaff!
MRS. PAGE. He, he; I can never hit on's name. There is such
a league between my good man and he! Is your wife at
home indeed?
FORD. Indeed she is.
MRS. PAGE. By your leave, sir. I am sick till I see her.
Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ROBIN
FORD. Has Page any brains? Hath he any eyes? Hath he any
thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no use of them. Why,
this boy will carry a letter twenty mile as easy as a cannon
will shoot pointblank twelve score. He pieces out his wife's
inclination; he gives her folly motion and advantage; and
now she's going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. A
man may hear this show'r sing in the wind. And Falstaff's
boy with her! Good plots! They are laid; and our revolted
wives share damnation together.
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