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He loves the gallimaufry, Ford. Perpend.

Ford. Love my wife?

Pist.

With liver burning hot. Prevent; or go thou

Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels—

O, odious is the name!

Ford. What name, sir?

Pist.

The horn, I say. Farewell.

Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by night.

Take heed, ere summer comes or cuckoo-birds do sing.

Away, Sir Corporal Nym!

Believe it, Page, he speaks sense.

[Exit.]

Ford [Aside.] I will be patient; I will find out this.

Nym [To Page.] And this is true; I like not the humor of lying. He hath wrong’d me in some humors. I should have borne the humor’d letter to her; but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves your wife: there’s the short and the long. My name is Corporal Nym; I speak, and I avouch; ’tis true; my name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife. Adieu. I love not the humor of bread and cheese [and there’s the humor of it]. Adieu.

[Exit.]

Page. “The humor of it,” quoth ’a! Here’s a fellow frights English out of his wits.