[Enter ford, page, caius, and sir Hugh Evans.]

Ford.  Pray you come near.  If I suspect without cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be your jest; I deserve it.  How now, whither bear you this?

Servant. 
To the laundress, forsooth.

Mrs. Ford. 
Why, what have you to do whither they bear it?  You were best meddle
with buck-washing.

Ford. 
Buck!  I would I could wash myself of the buck!  Buck, buck, buck!
ay, buck; I warrant you, buck; and of the season too, it shall appear.

[Exeunt servants with the basket.]

Gentlemen, I have dreamed to-night; I’ll tell you my dream.  Here, here, here be my keys:  ascend my chambers; search, seek, find out.  I’ll warrant we’ll unkennel the fox.  Let me stop this way first. [Locking the door.] So, now uncape.

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 asked 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.

Mrs. Page. 
I will lay a plot to try that, and we will yet have more tricks
with Falstaff:  his dissolute disease will scarce obey this medicine.

Mrs. Ford.  Shall we send that foolish carrion, Mistress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the water, and give him another hope, to betray him to another punishment?

Mrs. Page. 
We will do it; let him be sent for to-morrow eight o’clock, to
have amends.

[Re-enter ford, page, caius, and sir Hugh Evans.]

Ford. 
I cannot find him:  may be the knave bragged of that he could not
compass.