Bard. It is a life that I have desir'd: I will thrive. [Exit BARDOLPH. Fal. I am glad, I am so acquit of this tinderbox; his thefts were too open; his filching was like an unskilful singer, he kept not time.

Enter PISTOL, NYM, and ROBIN.

Which of you know Ford of this town?

Pist. I ken the wight; he is of substance good. Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.

Pist. Two yards and more.

Fal. No quips now, Pistol: Indeed, I am in the waist two yards about: but I am now about no waste; I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's wife: I spy entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she gives the leer of invitation: I can construe the action of her familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be english'd rightly, is, "I am Sir John Falstaff's."

Pist. He hath study'd her will; and translated her will; out of honesty into English.

Fal. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule of her husband's purse; she hath a legion of angels. Nym. The humour rises; it is good: humour me the angels.

Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her: and here another to Page's wife; who even now gave me good eyes too, examin'd my parts with most judicious eyliads sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly,—

Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine.

Nym. I thank thee for that humour.

Fal. O, she did so course-o'er my exteriors with such a greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye did seem to scorch me up like a burning-glass! She

bears the purse too; she is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. I will be cheater to them both, and they shall be exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to Mistress Ford; we will thrive, lads, we will thrive.

Pist. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,

And by my side wear steel? then, Lucifer take all. Nym. I will run no base humour: here, take the humour letter; I will keep the 'haviour of reputation. Fal. Hold, sirrah, bear you these letters tightly; Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.

[Exit ROBIN. Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hail-stones, go; Trudge, plod, away, o'the hoof; seek shelter, pack! Falstaff will learn the humour of this age,

French thrift, you rogues: myself, and skirted page. [Exit FALSTAFF. Nym. I have operations in my head, which be hu mours of revenge,

Pist. Wilt thou revenge?

Nym. By welkin, and her star?

Pist. With wit, or steel?

Nym. With both the humours I :

I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.

Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold,

How Falstaff, varlet vile,

His dove will prove, his gold will hold,
And his soft couch defile.

[Exeunt.