Mrs. Ford. 
There they always use to discharge their birding-pieces.

Mrs. Page. 
Creep into the kiln-hole.

Falstaff. 
Where is it?

Mrs. Ford.  He will seek there, on my word.  Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his note:  there is no hiding you in the house.

Falstaff. 
I’ll go out then.

Mrs. Page. 
If you go out in your own semblance, you die, Sir John.  Unless
you go out disguised,—­

Mrs. Ford. 
How might we disguise him?

Mrs. Page.  Alas the day!  I know not!  There is no woman’s gown big enough for him; otherwise he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape.

Falstaff. 
Good hearts, devise something:  any extremity rather than a mischief.

Mrs. Ford. 
My maid’s aunt, the fat woman of Brainford, has a gown above.

Mrs. Page. 
On my word, it will serve him; she’s as big as he is; and there’s
her thrummed hat, and her muffler too.  Run up, Sir John.

Mrs. Ford. 
Go, go, sweet Sir John.  Mistress Page and I will look some linen
for your head.

Mrs. Page. 
Quick, quick! we’ll come dress you straight; put on the gown the while.

[Exit Falstaff.]

Mrs. Ford.  I would my husband would meet him in this shape; he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford; he swears she’s a witch, forbade her my house, and hath threatened to beat her.

Mrs. Page. 
Heaven guide him to thy husband’s cudgel; and the devil guide his
cudgel afterwards!

Mrs. Ford. 
But is my husband coming?

Mrs. Page. 
Ay, in good sadness is he; and talks of the basket too, howsoever
he hath had intelligence.

Mrs. Ford. 
We’ll try that; for I’ll appoint my men to carry the basket again,
to meet him at the door with it as they did last time.

Mrs. Page. 
Nay, but he’ll be here presently; let’s go dress him like the
witch of Brainford.

Mrs. Ford. 
I’ll first direct my men what they shall do with the basket.  Go up;
I’ll bring linen for him straight.

[Exit.]

Mrs. Page. 
Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse him enough. 
  We’ll leave a proof, by that which we will do,
  Wives may be merry and yet honest too. 
  We do not act that often jest and laugh;
  ’Tis old but true:  ‘Still swine eats all the draff.’

[Exit.]

[Re-enter mistress ford, with two servants.]

Mrs. Ford. 
Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders; your master is
hard at door; if he bid you set it down, obey him.  Quickly, dispatch.