PAGE. Good Master Ford, be contented; you wrong yourself
too much.
FORD. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen, you shall see sport
anon; follow me, gentlemen. Exit
EVANS. This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies.
CAIUS. By gar, 'tis no the fashion of France; it is not jealous
in France.
PAGE. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his
search. Exeunt EVANS, PAGE, and CAIUS
MRS. PAGE. Is there not a double excellency in this?
MRS. FORD. I know not which pleases me better, that my
husband is deceived, or Sir John.
MRS. PAGE. What a taking was he in when your husband
ask'd who was in the basket!
MRS. FORD. I am half afraid he will have need of washing; so
throwing him into the water will do him a benefit.
MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the
same strain were in the same distress.
MRS. FORD. I think my husband hath some special suspicion
of Falstaff's being here, for I never saw him so gross in his
jealousy till now.
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