[Re-enter mistress page and Robin.]

What’s the matter?  How now!

Mrs. Page. 
O Mistress Ford, what have you done?  You’re shamed, you are
overthrown, you are undone for ever!

Mrs. Ford. 
What’s the matter, good Mistress Page?

Mrs. Page. 
O well-a-day, Mistress Ford! having an honest man to your husband,
to give him such cause of suspicion!

Mrs. Ford. 
What cause of suspicion?

Mrs. Page. 
What cause of suspicion?  Out upon you! how am I mistook in you!

Mrs. Ford. 
Why, alas, what’s the matter?

Mrs. Page.  Your husband’s coming hither, woman, with all the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman that he says is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence:  you are undone.

Mrs. Ford.
[Aside.] Speak louder.—­
’Tis not so, I hope.

Mrs. Page.  Pray heaven it be not so that you have such a man here! but ’tis most certain your husband’s coming, with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one.  I come before to tell you.  If you know yourself clear, why, I am glad of it; but if you have a friend here, convey, convey him out.  Be not amazed; call all your senses to you; defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good life for ever.

Mrs. Ford.  What shall I do?—­There is a gentleman, my dear friend; and I fear not mine own shame as much as his peril:  I had rather than a thousand pound he were out of the house.

Mrs. Page.  For shame! never stand ‘you had rather’ and ‘you had rather’:  your husband’s here at hand; bethink you of some conveyance; in the house you cannot hide him.  O, how have you deceived me!  Look, here is a basket; if he be of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking:  or—­it is whiting-time—­send him by your two men to Datchet-Mead.

Mrs. Ford. 
He’s too big to go in there.  What shall I do?

Falstaff.
[Coming forward] Let me see ’t, let me see ’t.  O, let me see ’t! 
I’ll in, I’ll in; follow your friend’s counsel; I’ll in.

Mrs. Page. 
What, Sir John Falstaff!  Are these your letters, knight?

Falstaff. 
I love thee and none but thee; help me away:  let me creep in here. 
I’ll never—­

[He gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen.]

Mrs. Page. 
Help to cover your master, boy.  Call your men, Mistress Ford.  You
dissembling knight!

Mrs. Ford. 
What, John!  Robert!  John!

[Exit Robin.]

[Re-enter servants.]

Go, take up these clothes here, quickly; where’s the cowl-staff?  Look how you drumble!  Carry them to the laundress in Datchet-Mead; quickly, come.