Page 2492 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

FALSTAFF

Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave, I know him [245] not. Yet I wrong him to
call him poor; they say the jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money, for
the which his wife seems to me well-favoured. I will use her as the key of the

cuckoldly rogue’s coffer, and there’s my harvesthome. [250]

FORD

I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might avoid him if you saw him.

FALSTAFF
Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will stare him out of his wits; I will
awe him with my cudgel; it shall hang like a meteor o’er the cuckold’s horns.
Master [255] Brook, thou shalt know I will predominate over the peasant, and
thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon at night. Ford’s a knave, and I

will aggravate his style; thou, Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and
cuckold. Come to me soon at night. [260]
Exit.

FORD
What a damned Epicurean rascal is this? My heart is ready to crack with

impatience. Who says this is improvident jealousy? My wife hath sent to him,
the hour is fixed, the match is made. Would any man have thought this? See
the hell of having a false woman: my bed [265] shall be abused, my coffers
ransacked, my reputation gnawn at, and I shall not only receive this villainous

wrong, but stand under the adoption of abominable terms, and by him that
does me this wrong. Terms! Names! Amaimon sounds well; Lucifer, well;
Barbason, well: yet they [270] are devils’ additions, the names of fiends. But
cuckold? Wittol? Cuckold! The devil himself hath not such a name. Page is an

ass, a secure ass; he will trust his wife, he will not be jealous. I will rather
trust a Fleming with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese,
an [275] Irishman with my aqua-vitæ bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling
gelding, than my wife with herself. Then she plots, then she ruminates, then

she devises; and what they think in their hearts they may effect, they will
break their hearts but they will effect. Heaven be praised for my [280]
jealousy! − Eleven o’clock the hour: I will prevent this, detect my wife, be
revenged on Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I will about it; better three hours too

soon than a minute too late. Fie, fie, fie; cuckold, cuckold, cuckold!
Exit.