The Merry Wives of Windsor quotes

Proudly. It is an old coat.

The dozen white louses do become an old coat well; it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.

Coldly. The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old coat.

I know the young gentlewoman; she has good gifts.

Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is goot gifts.

Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff there?

Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff there?

Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do despise one that is false; or as I despise one that is not true.

The knight Sir John is there; and, I beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. I will peat the door for Master Page. Knocks. What, hoa! Got pless your house here!

Tut, a pin! this shall be answered.

I will answer it straight: I have done all this. That is now answered.

The Council shall know this.

The Council shall know this.

’Twere better for you if it were known in counsel: you’ll be laughed at.

Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts.

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

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.

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

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.

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

“Convey” the wise it call. “Steal!” foh! A fico for the phrase!

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

Young ravens must have food.

Which of you know Ford of this town?

I have writ me here a letter to her; and here another to Page’s wife, who even now gave me good eyes too, examined my parts with most judicious oeillades; sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly.

Then did the sun on dunghill shine.

I thank thee for that humour.

Enter Mistress Page, with a letter.

What! have I ’scaped love-letters in the holiday-time of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them?

Let me see. She reads. “Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use Reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor. You are not young, no more am I; go to, then, there’s sympathy:

out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company! What should I say to him? I was then frugal of my mirth:—Heaven forgive me!

Why, I’ll exhibit a bill in the parliament for the putting down of men.

How shall I be revenged on him? for revenged I will be, as sure as his guts are made of puddings.

Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour. What is it?—Dispense with trifles;—what is it?

If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment or so, I could be knighted.

What? thou liest. Sir Alice Ford! These knights will hack; and so thou shouldst not alter the article of thy gentry.

and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof to all uncomeliness that I would have sworn his disposition would have gone to the truth of his words; but they do no more adhere and keep place together than the Hundredth Psalm to the tune of “Greensleeves.”

What tempest, I trow, threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly, ashore at Windsor?

How shall I be revenged on him? I think the best way were to entertain him with hope, till the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own grease. Did you ever hear the like?

but they do no more adhere and keep place together than the Hundredth Psalm to the tune of “Greensleeves.” What tempest, I trow, threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly, ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him?

I think the best way were to entertain him with hope, till the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own grease.

Did you ever hear the like?

He will print them, out of doubt; for he cares not what he puts into the press, when he would put us two: I had rather be a giantess and lie under Mount Pelion.

Well, I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste man.

Taking Mistress Page’s letter. Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the very words. What doth he think of us?

I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to turn them together.

A man may be too confident.

I would have nothing “lie on my head”: I cannot be thus satisfied.

I will not lend thee a penny.

Why then, the world’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.

I will retort the sum in equipage.

Reason, you rogue, reason.

Thinkest thou I’ll endanger my soul gratis?

At a word, hang no more about me, I am no gibbet for you: go: a short knife and a throng!—to your manor of Picht-hatch! go.

Say’st thou so, old Jack? go thy ways; I’ll make more of thy old body than I have done. Will they yet look after thee? Wilt thou, after the expense of so much money, be now a gainer? Good body, I thank thee.

Let them say ’tis grossly done; so it be fairly done, no matter.

Enter Bardolph, with a cup of sack.

not to charge you; for I must let you understand I think myself in better plight for a lender than you are: the which hath something embold’ned me to this unseasoned intrusion; for they say, if money go before, all ways do lie open.

Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on.

Troth, and I have a bag of money here troubles me; if you will help to bear it, Sir John, take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage.

Of what quality was your love, then?

Like a fair house built on another man’s ground; so that I have lost my edifice by mistaking the place where I erected it.

To what purpose have you unfolded this to me?

O, understand my drift.

She dwells so securely on the excellency of her honour that the folly of my soul dares not present itself; she is too bright to be looked against.

Now, could I come to her with any detection in my hand, my desires had instance and argument to commend themselves;

Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old, and of the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches to make one.

Though we are justices, and doctors, and churchmen, Master Page, we have some salt of our youth in us; we are the sons of women, Master Page.

It will be found so, Master Page. Master Doctor Caius, I come to fetch you home. I am sworn of the peace; you have showed yourself a wise physician, and Sir Hugh hath shown himself a wise and patient churchman.

How now, Master Parson! Good morrow, good Sir Hugh.

Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student from his book, and it is wonderful.

Aside. Ah, sweet Anne Page!

So do you, good Master Doctor.

Disarm them, and let them question; let them keep their limbs whole and hack our English.

They are disarmed.

What say you to young Master Fenton?

He capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May; he will carry’t, he will carry’t; ’tis in his buttons; he will carry’t.

Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentleman is of no having: he kept company with the wild Prince and Pointz; he is of too high a region, he knows too much.

Ay, I’ll be sworn. My master knows not of your being here, and hath threatened to put me into everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it; for he swears he’ll turn me away.

Thou’rt a good boy; this secrecy of thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a new doublet and hose.

I’ll go hide me.

By the Lord, thou art a traitor to say so: thou wouldst make an absolute courtier; and the firm fixture of thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait in a semi-circled farthingale.

I see what thou wert, if Fortune thy foe were not, Nature thy friend.

Come, thou canst not hide it.

Fie, fie, Master Ford, are you not ashamed?

What spirit, what devil suggests this imagination?

I would not ha’ your distemper in this kind for the wealth of Windsor Castle.

I see I cannot get thy father’s love; Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.

Why, thou must be thyself.

He doth object, I am too great of birth; And that my state being gall’d with my expense, I seek to heal it only by his wealth. Besides these, other bars he lays before me, My riots past, my wild societies;

I come to him. Aside. This is my father’s choice.

O, what a world of vile ill-favour’d faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!

Steps between them. And how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a word with you. Anne moves away.

Now Heaven send thee good fortune!

A kind heart he hath; a woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.

But yet I would my master had Mistress Anne; or I would Master Slender had her; or, in sooth, I would Master Fenton had her;

Let us about it.

It is admirable pleasures, and fery honest knaveries.

Exeunt Page, Ford, and Sir Hugh Evans.

Prithee, no more prattling; go: I’ll hold. This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. Away! go.

They say there is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death.

Away!

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!

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 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; Like 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.