Anne. 
I pray you, sir.

Slender. 
I’ll rather be unmannerly than troublesome.  You do yourself wrong
indeed, la!

[Exeunt.]

Scene 2.  The same.

[Enter sir Hugh Evans and simple.]

Evans.  Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius’ house which is the way; and there dwells one Mistress Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer, and his wringer.

Simple. 
Well, sir.

Evans.  Nay, it is petter yet.  Give her this letter; for it is a ’oman that altogether’s acquaintance with Mistress Anne Page; and the letter is to desire and require her to solicit your master’s desires to Mistress Anne Page.  I pray you be gone:  I will make an end of my dinner; there’s pippins and cheese to come.

[Exeunt.]

Scene 3.  A room in the Garter Inn.

[Enter Falstaff, host, Bardolph, Nym, pistol, and Robin.]

Falstaff. 
Mine host of the Garter!

Host.
What says my bully rook?  Speak scholarly and wisely.

Falstaff. 
Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my followers.

Host.
Discard, bully Hercules; cashier; let them wag; trot, trot.

Falstaff. 
I sit at ten pounds a week.

Host.
Thou’rt an emperor, Caesar, Keiser, and Pheazar.  I will entertain
Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall tap; said I well, bully Hector?

Falstaff. 
Do so, good mine host.

Host.
I have spoke; let him follow. [To Bardolph] Let me see thee froth and
lime.  I am at a word; follow.

[Exit.]

Falstaff. 
Bardolph, follow him.  A tapster is a good trade; an old cloak makes
a new jerkin; a withered serving-man a fresh tapster.  Go; adieu.

Bardolph. 
It is a life that I have desired; I will thrive.

Pistol. 
O base Hungarian wight!  Wilt thou the spigot wield?

[Exit Bardolph.]

Nym. 
He was gotten in drink.  Is not the humour conceited?

Falstaff. 
I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box:  his thefts were too open;
his filching was like an unskilful singer—­he kept not time.

Nym. 
The good humour is to steal at a minim’s rest.

Pistol. 
‘Convey’ the wise it call.  ‘Steal!’ foh!  A fico for the phrase!

Falstaff. 
Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.

Pistol. 
Why, then, let kibes ensue.

Falstaff. 
There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must shift.

Pistol. 
Young ravens must have food.

Falstaff. 
Which of you know Ford of this town?