PAGE. Come, Mother Prat; come. give me your hand.
FORD. I'll prat her. [Beating him] Out of my door, you
witch, you hag, you. baggage, you polecat, you ronyon!
Out, out! I'll conjure you, I'll fortune-tell you.
Exit FALSTAFF
MRS. PAGE. Are you not asham'd? I think you have kill'd the
poor woman.
MRS. FORD. Nay, he will do it. 'Tis a goodly credit for you.
FORD. Hang her, witch!
EVANS. By yea and no, I think the oman is a witch indeed; I
like not when a oman has a great peard; I spy a great peard
under his muffler.
FORD. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you follow;
see but the issue of my jealousy; if I cry out thus upon no
trail, never trust me when I open again.
PAGE. Let's obey his humour a little further. Come,
gentlemen. Exeunt all but MRS. FORD and MRS. PAGE
MRS. PAGE. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.
MRS. FORD. Nay, by th' mass, that he did not; he beat him
most unpitifully methought.
MRS. PAGE. I'll have the cudgel hallow'd and hung o'er the
altar; it hath done meritorious service.
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