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The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute draws on. Now, the hot-blooded gods assist me! Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; love set on thy horns. O powerful love! that, in some respects, makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a beast. You were also, Jupiter, a swan for the love of Leda. O omnipotent Love! how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose! A fault done first in the form of a beast. O Jove, a beastly fault! And then another fault in the semblance of a fowl; think on ’t, Jove; a foul fault! When gods have hot backs, what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor stag; and the fattest, I think, i’ the forest. Send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes here? my doe?
The Windsor bell has struck twelve; the moment is approaching. Now, may the hot-blooded gods help me! Remember, Jove, you were a bull for Europa; love was on your horns. Oh powerful love! that, in some ways, turns a beast into a man, and in others, a man into a beast. You were also, Jupiter, a swan for the love of Leda. Oh all-powerful Love! how close the god came to the nature of a goose! A mistake first made in the form of a beast. Oh Jove, a beastly mistake! And then another mistake in the form of a bird; think about it, Jove; a bad mistake! When gods are passionate, what can ordinary men do? As for me, I am here a Windsor stag; and the biggest, I think, in the forest. Send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me for pissing my fat? Who’s coming here? my doe?
Sir John! art thou there, my deer? my male deer?
Sir John! Are you there, my deer? my male deer?
My doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Green Sleeves, hail kissing-comfits and snow eringoes; let there come a tempest of provocation, I will shelter me here.
My doe with the black tail! Let the sky rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of "Green Sleeves," hail kissing-candies and snowroot; let there come a storm of trouble, I will shelter myself here.
Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart.
Mistress Page has come with me, sweetheart.
Divide me like a bribe buck, each a haunch: I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. Am I a woodman, ha? Speak I like Herne the hunter? Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution. As I am a true spirit, welcome!
Divide me like a bribe buck, each of you take a side: I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the person in this walk, and my horns I leave to your husbands. Am I a woodsman, huh? Do I speak like Herne the hunter? Well, now Cupid is a child of conscience; he makes up for his mistakes. As I’m a true spirit, welcome!
Alas, what noise?
Oh no, what’s that noise?
Heaven forgive our sins
God forgive our sins
What should this be?
What is going on here?
Away, away!
Go, go!
I think the devil will not have me damned, lest the oil that’s in me should set hell on fire; he would never else cross me thus.
I think the devil won’t let me be damned, because the oil in me might set hell on fire; he wouldn’t otherwise bother me like this.
Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, You moonshine revellers and shades of night, You orphan heirs of fixed destiny, Attend your office and your quality. Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes.
Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, You moonlit revelers and shadows of the night, You orphan heirs of fixed fate, Attend to your tasks and your rank. Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy noise.
Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys. Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap: Where fires thou find’st unraked and hearths unswept, There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry: Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery.
Elves, listen for your names; quiet down, you airy toys. Cricket, you shall leap to the chimneys of Windsor: Where you find fires untended and hearths unswept, Pinch the maids until they’re as blue as bilberries: Our radiant queen despises sloppiness and laziness.
They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die: I’ll wink and couch: no man their works must eye.
They are fairies; anyone who speaks to them will die: I’ll close my eyes and lie down: no one must see their work.
Where’s Bede? Go you, and where you find a maid That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, Raise up the organs of her fantasy; Sleep she as sound as careless infancy: But those as sleep and think not on their sins, Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides and shins.
Where’s Bede? You go, and where you find a maid Who, before sleeping, has said her prayers three times, Wake up her imagination; Let her sleep as soundly as a carefree infant: But those who sleep without thinking of their sins, Pinch them on their arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins.
About, about; Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out: Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room: That it may stand till the perpetual doom, In state as wholesome as in state ’tis fit, Worthy the owner, and the owner it. The several chairs of order look you scour With juice of balm and every precious flower: Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest, With loyal blazon, evermore be blest! And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing, Like to the Garter’s compass, in a ring: The expressure that it bears, green let it be, More fertile-fresh than all the field to see; And ’Honi soit qui mal y pense’ write In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue and white; Let sapphire, pearl and rich embroidery, Buckled below fair knighthood’s bending knee: Fairies use flowers for their charactery. Away; disperse: but till ’tis one o’clock, Our dance of custom round about the oak Of Herne the hunter, let us not forget.
Around, around; Search Windsor Castle, elves, inside and out: Scatter good luck, spirits, in every sacred room: So it may stand until the end of time, In as healthy a state as it’s meant to be, Worthy of the owner, and the owner worthy of it. The various chairs of order, make sure you clean With balm and every precious flower: Each fair part, coat, and crest, With loyal emblem, may it always be blessed! And every night, meadow-fairies, make sure you sing, In a circle like the Garter’s shape: The expression it carries, let it be green, More fertile and fresh than the whole field to see; And ‘Shame on him who thinks evil of it’ write In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white; Let sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, Be fastened below the fair knight’s bending knee: Fairies use flowers for their symbols. Go away; scatter: but until it’s one o’clock, Let us not forget our customary dance around the oak Of Herne the hunter.
Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, To guide our measure round about the tree. But, stay; I smell a man of middle-earth.
Please, lock hands in hand; set yourselves in order And twenty glow-worms shall be our lanterns, To guide our steps around the tree. But, wait; I smell a man of the ordinary world.
Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!
Heaven protect me from that Welsh fairy, or he’ll turn me into a piece of cheese!
Vile worm, thou wast o’erlook’d even in thy birth.
Wicked worm, you were overlooked even at birth.
With trial-fire touch me his finger-end: If he be chaste, the flame will back descend And turn him to no pain; but if he start, It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.
Let me touch the tip of his finger with fire: If he’s pure, the flame will go down again And cause him no harm; but if he flinches, It shows he has a corrupt heart.
A trial, come.
A test, let’s go.
Come, will this wood take fire?
Come on, will this wood catch fire?
Oh, Oh, Oh!
Oh, Oh, Oh!
Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire! About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme; And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. SONG. Fie on sinful fantasy! Fie on lust and luxury! Lust is but a bloody fire, Kindled with unchaste desire, Fed in heart, whose flames aspire As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. Pinch him, fairies, mutually; Pinch him for his villany; Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, Till candles and starlight and moonshine be out.
Corrupt, corrupt, and twisted in his desires! Fairies, gather around him; sing a mocking song; And, as you dance, keep pinching him in time. SONG. Shame on sinful imagination! Shame on lust and luxury! Lust is just a bloody fire, Started by unclean desire, Fed in the heart, whose flames grow higher As thoughts fan them, higher and higher. Pinch him, fairies, together; Pinch him for his wickedness; Pinch him, and burn him, and spin him around, Until the candles, starlight, and moonlight are gone.
Nay, do not fly; I think we have watch’d you now Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn?
Don’t run away; I think we’ve been watching you long enough. Will none but Herne the hunter do the trick for you?
I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives? See you these, husband? do not these fair yokes Become the forest better than the town?
Please, stop the joke now. Well, Sir John, what do you think of the wives of Windsor? Do you see them, husband? Do these fair women Look better in the forest than in the town?
Now, sir, who’s a cuckold now? Master Brook, Falstaff’s a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his horns, Master Brook: and, Master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford’s but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money, which must be paid to Master Brook; his horses are arrested for it, Master Brook.
Well, sir, who’s the cuckold now? Master Brook, Falstaff’s a villain, a cuckoldly villain; here’s his horns, Master Brook: and, Master Brook, he’s had nothing of Ford’s except his laundry basket, his club, and twenty pounds, which he still owes to Master Brook; his horses have been seized for it, Master Brook.
Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never meet. I will never take you for my love again; but I will always count you my deer.
Sir John, we’ve had bad luck; we could never meet. I’ll never think of you as my lover again, but I’ll always count you as my dear friend.
I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass.
I’m starting to see that I’ve been made a fool.
Ay, and an ox too: both the proofs are extant.
Yes, and a fool of an ox too: the evidence is clear.
And these are not fairies? I was three or four times in the thought they were not fairies: and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a received belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See now how wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent, when ’tis upon ill employment!
And those weren’t fairies? I was sure three or four times that they weren’t fairies: but the guilt in my mind, the sudden shock to my senses, made me believe the absurdity of the whole thing, despite all reason and logic, that they were fairies. See how quickly wit can be fooled, when it’s wrongly applied!
Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires, and fairies will not pinse you.
Sir John Falstaff, serve God, and give up your desires, and fairies will no longer bother you.
Well said, fairy Hugh.
Well said, fairy Hugh.
And leave your jealousies too, I pray you.
And stop being so jealous, please.
I will never mistrust my wife again till thou art able to woo her in good English.
I’ll never doubt my wife again until you’re able to woo her in proper English.
Have I laid my brain in the sun and dried it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o’erreaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too? shall I have a coxcomb of frize? ’Tis time I were choked with a piece of toasted cheese.
Have I let my brain bake in the sun, that it’s too dumb to stop something as stupid as this? Am I being ridden by a Welsh goat too? Should I wear a ridiculous hat? It’s time I choked on a piece of toasted cheese.
Seese is not good to give putter; your belly is all putter.
Cheese is not good to give a drunk; your belly is all drunk.
’Seese’ and ’putter’! have I lived to stand at the taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This is enough to be the decay of lust and late-walking through the realm.
’Cheese’ and ’drunk’! Have I lived to stand and be mocked by someone who makes a joke of English? This is enough to ruin all excitement and good walking through the country.
Why Sir John, do you think, though we would have the virtue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders and have given ourselves without scruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our delight?
Why, Sir John, do you think that, even if we wanted to take all the virtue out of our hearts by force and throw ourselves without hesitation into hell, that the devil could have made you our joy?
What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax?
What, a mess of leftovers? A bag of straw?
A puffed man?
A puffed-up man?
Old, cold, withered and of intolerable entrails?
Old, cold, shriveled, and with horrible insides?
And one that is as slanderous as Satan?
And one who’s as slanderous as the devil?
And as poor as Job?
And as poor as Job?
And as wicked as his wife?
And as wicked as his wife?
And given to fornications, and to taverns and sack and wine and metheglins, and to drinkings and swearings and starings, pribbles and prabbles?
And given to lust, and to taverns, and drinking wine and mead, and to drinking, swearing, and staring, and endless chatter?
Well, I am your theme: you have the start of me; I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel; ignorance itself is a plummet o’er me: use me as you will.
Well, I’m your topic: you’ve got me beat; I’m down and can’t answer this Welsh nonsense; ignorance itself is dragging me down: do with me whatever you want.
Marry, sir, we’ll bring you to Windsor, to one Master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to whom you should have been a pander: over and above that you have suffered, I think to repay that money will be a biting affliction.
Well, sir, we’ll take you to Windsor, to one Master Brook, whom you’ve tricked out of money, to whom you should have been a pimp: on top of everything you’ve done, I think repaying that money will be a real pain.
Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat a posset to-night at my house; where I will desire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee: tell her Master Slender hath married her daughter.
But stay cheerful, knight: you’ll have a drink at my house tonight; where I’ll ask you to laugh at my wife, who’s laughing at you now: tell her that Master Slender has married her daughter.
[Aside] Doctors doubt that: if Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Caius’ wife.
[Aside] Doctors aren’t sure about that: if Anne Page is my daughter, then she’s, by now, Doctor Caius’ wife.
Whoa ho! ho, father Page!
Whoa, ho! ho, Father Page!
Son, how now! how now, son! have you dispatched?
Son, what’s happening! What’s happening, son! Have you finished?
Dispatched! I’ll make the best in Gloucestershire know on’t; would I were hanged, la, else.
Finished! I’ll make sure everyone in Gloucestershire knows about it; I’d rather be hanged, honestly, if I’m lying.
Of what, son?
About what, son?
I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne Page, and she’s a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i’ the church, I would have swinged him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never stir!--and ’tis a postmaster’s boy.
I went to Eton to marry Mistress Anne Page, and she turned out to be a big clumsy boy. If it hadn’t been in the church, I would have knocked him out, or he would’ve knocked me out. If I didn’t think it was Anne Page, I’d rather never move again!--and it turned out to be a postmaster’s boy.
Upon my life, then, you took the wrong.
Honestly, then, you must have picked the wrong one.
What need you tell me that? I think so, when I took a boy for a girl. If I had been married to him, for all he was in woman’s apparel, I would not have had him.
Why are you telling me that? I figured it out when I picked a boy instead of a girl. If I had actually married him, even though he was dressed as a woman, I wouldn’t have wanted him.
Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how you should know my daughter by her garments?
Well, this is your own fault. Didn’t I tell you how to recognize my daughter by her clothes?
I went to her in white, and cried ’mum,’ and she cried ’budget,’ as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was not Anne, but a postmaster’s boy.
I went to her in white, and whispered ‘mum,’ and she said ‘budget,’ just like Anne and I had agreed; and still it wasn’t Anne, but a postmaster’s boy.
Good George, be not angry: I knew of your purpose; turned my daughter into green; and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married.
Good George, don’t be angry: I knew about your plan; I dressed my daughter in green; and actually, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and they’ve just gotten married.
Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened: I ha’ married un garcon, a boy; un paysan, by gar, a boy; it is not Anne Page: by gar, I am cozened.
Where is Mistress Page? By God, I’ve been tricked: I’ve married a boy; a peasant, by God, a boy; it’s not Anne Page: by God, I’ve been tricked.
Why, did you take her in green?
Well, did you take her when she was wearing green?
Ay, by gar, and ’tis a boy: by gar, I’ll raise all Windsor.
Yes, by God, and it’s a boy: by God, I’ll stir up all of Windsor.
This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne?
This is strange. Who has got the right Anne?
My heart misgives me: here comes Master Fenton.
I feel uneasy: here comes Master Fenton.
How now, Master Fenton!
How’s it going, Master Fenton!
Pardon, good father! good my mother, pardon!
Sorry, good father! please, my mother, forgive me!
Now, mistress, how chance you went not with Master Slender?
Now, mistress, how is it that you didn’t go with Master Slender?
Why went you not with master doctor, maid?
Why didn’t you go with the doctor, girl?
You do amaze her: hear the truth of it. You would have married her most shamefully, Where there was no proportion held in love. The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us. The offence is holy that she hath committed; And this deceit loses the name of craft, Of disobedience, or unduteous title, Since therein she doth evitate and shun A thousand irreligious cursed hours, Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.
You’re confusing her: listen to the truth. You would have married her most disgracefully, Where there was no real love. The truth is, she and I, long ago promised to each other, Are now so certain that nothing can break us apart. The wrong she has done is justified; And this trick isn’t really deceit, Disobedience, or dishonor, Since in this way she avoids and escapes A thousand sinful, miserable hours, Which a forced marriage would have brought upon her.
Stand not amazed; here is no remedy: In love the heavens themselves do guide the state; Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
Don’t be shocked; there’s no solution: In love, the heavens themselves guide what happens; Money buys land, and wives are chosen by fate.
I am glad, though you have ta’en a special stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced.
I’m glad, though you’ve taken a special aim at me, that your shot has missed.
Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy! What cannot be eschew’d must be embraced.
Well, what’s the solution? Fenton, may heaven bless you! What can’t be avoided must be accepted.
When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chased.
When the night-hounds chase, all kinds of deer run.
Well, I will muse no further. Master Fenton, Heaven give you many, many merry days! Good husband, let us every one go home, And laugh this sport o’er by a country fire; Sir John and all.
Well, I won’t think about it anymore. Master Fenton, May heaven give you many, many happy days! Good husband, let’s all go home, And laugh about this later by the fireside; Sir John and all.
Let it be so. Sir John, To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word For he tonight shall lie with Mistress Ford.
Let it be so. Sir John, You will keep your word to Master Brook For tonight he will lie with Mistress Ford.