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Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my sufferance. I see you are obsequious in your love, and I profess requital to a hair’s breadth; not only, Mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all the accoutrement, complement and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your husband now?
Mistress Ford, your sadness has worn me out. I see you are eager in your love, and I promise to return it exactly; not just, Mistress Ford, in the simple act of love, but in all the details, compliments, and ceremonies that go with it. But are you sure about your husband now?
He’s a-birding, sweet Sir John.
He’s out bird hunting, sweet Sir John.
[Within] What, ho, gossip Ford! what, ho!
[Within] Hey, gossip Ford! hey!
Step into the chamber, Sir John.
Step into the room, Sir John.
How now, sweetheart! who’s at home besides yourself?
What’s going on, sweetheart! Who’s home besides you?
Why, none but mine own people.
Why, only my own people.
Indeed!
Really!
No, certainly.
No, definitely not.
Speak louder.
Speak louder.
Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here.
Honestly, I’m so glad you don’t have anyone here.
Why?
Why?
Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes again: he so takes on yonder with my husband; so rails against all married mankind; so curses all Eve’s daughters, of what complexion soever; and so buffets himself on the forehead, crying, ’Peer out, peer out!’ that any madness I ever yet beheld seemed but tameness, civility and patience, to this his distemper he is in now: I am glad the fat knight is not here.
Well, your husband is acting crazy again: he’s going on and on with my husband; he’s ranting about all married men; he’s cursing all women, no matter what race they are; and he’s beating his head, shouting, “Get out, get out!” Any madness I’ve ever seen seems calm compared to how he’s acting now. I’m glad the fat knight isn’t here.
Why, does he talk of him?
Why, does he talk about him?
Of none but him; and swears he was carried out, the last time he searched for him, in a basket; protests to my husband he is now here, and hath drawn him and the rest of their company from their sport, to make another experiment of his suspicion: but I am glad the knight is not here; now he shall see his own foolery.
Only him; and he’s swearing that the last time he looked for him, he was carried out in a basket. He’s telling my husband that the knight is here now, and has dragged him and all their friends away from their fun to test his suspicions again. But I’m glad the knight isn’t here; now he’ll see how foolish he looks.
How near is he, Mistress Page?
How close is he, Mistress Page?
Hard by; at street end; he will be here anon.
Very close; just down the street; he’ll be here soon.
I am undone! The knight is here.
I’m doomed! The knight is here.
Why then you are utterly shamed, and he’s but a dead man. What a woman are you!--Away with him, away with him! better shame than murder.
Well, then you’re completely embarrassed, and he’s as good as dead. What kind of woman are you! Get rid of him, get rid of him! Better to face the shame than murder.
Which way should be go? how should I bestow him? Shall I put him into the basket again?
Which way should I go? Where should I put him? Should I hide him in the basket again?
No, I’ll come no more i’ the basket. May I not go out ere he come?
No, I’m not getting in the basket again. Can’t I leave before he gets here?
Alas, three of Master Ford’s brothers watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise you might slip away ere he came. But what make you here?
Oh no, three of Master Ford’s brothers are guarding the door with guns, to make sure no one leaves; otherwise you could sneak out before he showed up. But what are you doing here?
What shall I do? I’ll creep up into the chimney.
What should I do? I’ll crawl up into the chimney.
There they always use to discharge their birding-pieces. Creep into the kiln-hole.
That’s where they usually fire their hunting guns. Crawl into the kiln hole.
Where is it?
Where is it?
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.
He’ll search there, I swear. He has a list of every place in the house— every press, box, chest, trunk, well, vault—and he knows where they all are, so there’s no hiding you in here.
I’ll go out then.
Then I’ll go out.
If you go out in your own semblance, you die, Sir John. Unless you go out disguised--
If you leave looking like yourself, you’ll be caught, Sir John. Unless you leave disguised—
How might we disguise him?
How can we disguise him?
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.
Oh dear, I don’t know! There’s no woman’s dress big enough for him, otherwise he could just wear a hat, a scarf, and a kerchief, and slip away.
Good hearts, devise something: any extremity rather than a mischief.
Please, think of something: anything to avoid trouble.
My maid’s aunt, the fat woman of Brentford, has a gown above.
My maid’s aunt, the fat woman from Brentford, has a gown that might fit.
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.
Honestly, it will fit him; she’s as big as he is! And she has her hat and scarf too. Hurry, Sir John.
Go, go, sweet Sir John: Mistress Page and I will look some linen for your head.
Go, go, dear Sir John: Mistress Page and I will find something for your head.
Quick, quick! we’ll come dress you straight: put on the gown the while.
Quick, quick! We’ll dress you right away: put on the gown in the meantime.
I would my husband would meet him in this shape: he cannot abide the old woman of Brentford; he swears she’s a witch; forbade her my house and hath threatened to beat her.
I wish my husband would meet him like this: he can’t stand the old woman from Brentford; he says she’s a witch; he told her not to come to my house and has threatened to beat her.
Heaven guide him to thy husband’s cudgel, and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards!
I hope he gets to your husband’s stick, and then I hope the devil leads his stick after that!
But is my husband coming?
But is my husband coming?
Ah, in good sadness, is he; and talks of the basket too, howsoever he hath had intelligence.
Yes, really, he is; and he’s talking about the basket too, even though he’s gotten word about it.
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.
We’ll try that; I’ll tell my men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the door with it, just like they did last time.
Nay, but he’ll be here presently: let’s go dress him like the witch of Brentford.
No, but he’ll be here soon: let’s go dress him like the witch of Brentford.
I’ll first direct my men what they shall do with the basket. Go up; I’ll bring linen for him straight.
I’ll first tell my men what to do with the basket. Go upstairs; I’ll get some linen for him right away.
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 eat all the draff.
Hang him, dishonest fool! We can’t make fun of him enough. We’ll leave proof, with what we’re going to do, that wives can be happy, and still be honest: We don’t always act like this, joking and laughing; It’s old, but true, Still pigs eat all the scraps.
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.
Go, gentlemen, take the basket again on your shoulders: your master is right outside; if he tells you to set it down, do it: quickly, hurry up.
Come, come, take it up.
Come on, come on, pick it up.
Pray heaven it be not full of knight again.
I pray it’s not full of the knight again.
I hope not; I had as lief bear so much lead.
I hope not; I’d rather carry that much lead.
Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any way then to unfool me again? Set down the basket, villain! Somebody call my wife. Youth in a basket! O you panderly rascals! there’s a knot, a ging, a pack, a conspiracy against me: now shall the devil be shamed. What, wife, I say! Come, come forth! Behold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching!
Yes, but if it’s true, Master Page, do you have any way to make me stop looking like a fool again? Put down the basket, you scoundrel! Somebody call my wife. A young man in a basket! Oh, you deceitful rascals! There’s a plot, a scheme, a group working against me: now the devil will be ashamed. What, wife, I say! Come, come out! Look at the honest clothes you send out to be bleached!
Why, this passes, Master Ford; you are not to go loose any longer; you must be pinioned.
Well, this is too much, Master Ford; you can’t go on like this any longer; you need to be restrained.
Why, this is lunatics! this is mad as a mad dog!
This is madness! This is as crazy as a mad dog!
Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, indeed.
Truly, Master Ford, this is not right, really.
So say I too, sir.
I agree with you, sir.
Come hither, Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford the honest woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous fool to her husband! I suspect without cause, mistress, do I?
Come here, Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford the honest woman, the modest wife, the virtuous woman, who has the jealous fool for a husband! I suspect without any reason, do I, mistress?
Heaven be my witness you do, if you suspect me in any dishonesty.
God is my witness, you do, if you suspect me of any dishonesty.
Well said, brazen-face! hold it out. Come forth, sirrah!
Well said, shameless woman! Keep it up. Come out, you rascal!
This passes!
This is too much!
Are you not ashamed? let the clothes alone.
Aren’t you ashamed? Leave the clothes alone.
I shall find you anon.
I’ll deal with you in a moment.
’Tis unreasonable! Will you take up your wife’s clothes? Come away.
This is unreasonable! Will you pick up your wife’s clothes? Come on.
Empty the basket, I say!
Empty the basket, I said!
Why, man, why?
Why, man, why?
Master Page, as I am a man, there was one conveyed out of my house yesterday in this basket: why may not he be there again? In my house I am sure he is: my intelligence is true; my jealousy is reasonable. Pluck me out all the linen.
Master Page, as I’m a man, someone was carried out of my house yesterday in this basket: why can’t he be there again? I’m sure he’s in my house: my information is correct; my suspicion is reasonable. Pull out all the linen.
If you find a man there, he shall die a flea’s death.
If you find a man there, he’ll die like a flea.
Here’s no man.
There’s no man here.
By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford; this wrongs you.
Honestly, this isn’t right, Master Ford; this isn’t fair to you.
Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the imaginations of your own heart: this is jealousies.
Master Ford, you need to pray, and stop following the ideas in your own head: these are just jealous thoughts.
Well, he’s not here I seek for.
Well, he’s not here, that’s what I was looking for.
No, nor nowhere else but in your brain.
No, not here, and not anywhere else but in your mind.
Help to search my house this one time. If I find not what I seek, show no colour for my extremity; let me for ever be your table-sport; let them say of me, ’As jealous as Ford, Chat searched a hollow walnut for his wife’s leman.’ Satisfy me once more; once more search with me.
Help me search my house just this once. If I don’t find what I’m looking for, don’t make a joke of me; let me be the laughingstock forever; let them say about me, ‘As jealous as Ford, who searched a hollow walnut for his wife’s lover.’ Satisfy me once more; search with me again.
What, ho, Mistress Page! come you and the old woman down; my husband will come into the chamber.
What, hey, Mistress Page! you and the old woman come down; my husband will come into the room.
Old woman! what old woman’s that?
Old woman! which old woman is that?
Nay, it is my maid’s aunt of Brentford.
Oh, it’s my maid’s aunt from Brentford.
A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does she? We are simple men; we do not know what’s brought to pass under the profession of fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, by the figure, and such daubery as this is, beyond our element we know nothing. Come down, you witch, you hag, you; come down, I say!
A witch, a slut, an old deceiving slut! Haven’t I banned her from my house? She’s here on errands, is she? We’re simple men; we don’t know what goes on under the disguise of fortune-telling. She works with charms, with spells, with magic tricks, and nonsense like that, things we don’t understand. Come down, you witch, you hag, you; come down, I say!
Nay, good, sweet husband! Good gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman.
No, please, dear husband! Good gentlemen, don’t let him hit the old woman.
Come, Mother Prat; come, give me your hand.
Come, Mother Prat; come, give me your hand.
I’ll prat her.
I’ll beat her up.
Out of my door, you witch, you hag, you baggage, you polecat, you runyon! out, out! I’ll conjure you, I’ll fortune-tell you.
Get out of my door, you witch, you hag, you troublemaker, you skunk, you slut! Out, out! I’ll curse you, I’ll tell your fortune.
Are you not ashamed? I think you have killed the poor woman.
Aren’t you ashamed? I think you’ve killed the poor woman.
Nay, he will do it. ’Tis a goodly credit for you.
No, he’ll do it. It’s a fine reputation for you.
Hang her, witch!
Hang her, witch!
By the yea and no, I think the ’oman is a witch indeed: I like not when a ’oman has a great peard; I spy a great peard under his muffler.
By yes and no, I think the woman is a witch for sure: I don’t like it when a woman has a big beard; I see a big beard under his scarf.
Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you, follow; see but the issue of my jealousy: if I cry out thus upon no trail, never trust me when I open again.
Will you follow me, gentlemen? Please, follow me; just see what comes of my jealousy: if I yell like this without any reason, never trust me again.
Let’s obey his humour a little further: come, gentlemen.
Let’s go along with his mood a little longer: come, gentlemen.
Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.
Trust me, he beat him so pitifully.
Nay, by the mass, that he did not; he beat him most unpitifully, methought.
No, by the mass, he didn’t; he beat him so badly, I thought.
I’ll have the cudgel hallowed and hung o’er the altar; it hath done meritorious service.
I’ll have the stick blessed and hung over the altar; it’s done a noble job.
What think you? may we, with the warrant of womanhood and the witness of a good conscience, pursue him with any further revenge?
What do you think? Should we, with the right of womanhood and the certainty of a clear conscience, go after him for more revenge?
The spirit of wantonness is, sure, scared out of him: if the devil have him not in fee-simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of waste, attempt us again.
The spirit of mischief is surely scared out of him: if the devil doesn’t own him outright, with all his rights, he’ll never, I think, try to bother us again.
Shall we tell our husbands how we have served him?
Should we tell our husbands what we’ve done to him?
Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the figures out of your husband’s brains. If they can find in their hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight shall be any further afflicted, we two will still be the ministers.
Yes, definitely; even if it’s just to get the details out of your husband’s head. If they can feel sorry for the poor, immoral, fat knight and think he deserves more punishment, we will still be the ones to carry it out.
I’ll warrant they’ll have him publicly shamed: and methinks there would be no period to the jest, should he not be publicly shamed.
I bet they’ll want to shame him publicly; and I think there would be no end to the joke, if he isn’t publicly humiliated.
Come, to the forge with it then; shape it: I would not have things cool.
Come on, let’s get to work on it then; finish it up: I wouldn’t want things to die down.