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Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there’s no such thing in me.

Fal. What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee there’s something extraordinary in thee. Come, I cannot cog and say thou art this and that, like a many of these lisping hawthorn buds, that come like women in men’s apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple time—I cannot; but I love thee, none but thee; and thou deserv’st it.

Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir. I fear you love Mistress Page.

Fal. Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek of a lime-kill.

Mrs. Ford. Well, heaven knows how I love you, and you shall one day find it.

Fal. Keep in that mind, I’ll deserve it.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could not be in that mind.

[Enter Robin.]

Rob. Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! here’s Mistress Page at the door, sweating, and blowing, and looking wildly, and would needs speak with you presently.

Fal. She shall not see me, I will ensconce me behind the arras.