Mrs. Page. 
You are come to see my daughter Anne?

Quickly. 
Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne?

Mrs. Page. 
Go in with us and see; we’d have an hour’s talk with you.

[Exeunt mistress page, mistress ford, and mistress quickly.]

Page. 
How now, Master Ford!

Ford. 
You heard what this knave told me, did you not?

Page. 
Yes; and you heard what the other told me?

Ford. 
Do you think there is truth in them?

Page.  Hang ’em, slaves!  I do not think the knight would offer it; but these that accuse him in his intent towards our wives are a yoke of his discarded men; very rogues, now they be out of service.

Ford. 
Were they his men?

Page. 
Marry, were they.

Ford. 
I like it never the better for that.  Does he lie at the Garter?

Page. 
Ay, marry, does he.  If he should intend this voyage toward my wife,
I would turn her loose to him; and what he gets more of her than
sharp words, let it lie on my head.

Ford. 
I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to turn them together. 
A man may be too confident.  I would have nothing ‘lie on my head’:  I
cannot be thus satisfied.

Page. 
Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes.  There is either
liquor in his pate or money in his purse when he looks so merrily.

[Enter host and shallow.]

How now, mine host!

Host.
How now, bully-rook!  Thou’rt a gentleman.  Cavaliero-justice, I say!

Shallow. 
I follow, mine host, I follow.  Good even and twenty, good Master
Page!  Master Page, will you go with us?  We have sport in hand.

Host.
Tell him, cavaliero-justice; tell him, bully-rook.

Shallow. 
Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh the Welsh priest
and Caius the French doctor.

Ford. 
Good mine host o’ the Garter, a word with you.

Host.
What say’st thou, my bully-rook?

[They go aside.]

Shallow. [To page.] Will you go with us to behold it?  My merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons; and, I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, believe me, I hear the parson is no jester.  Hark, I will tell you what our sport shall be. [They converse apart.]

Host.
Hast thou no suit against my knight, my guest-cavaliero?

Ford. 
None, I protest:  but I’ll give you a pottle of burnt sack to give me
recourse to him, and tell him my name is Brook, only for a jest.

Host.
My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and regress; said I well? and
thy name shall be Brook.  It is a merry knight.  Will you go, mynheers?