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Mrs. Ford. What shall I do? There is a gentleman, my dear friend; and I fear not mine own shame so much as his peril. I had rather than a thousand pound he were out of the house.

Mrs. Page. For shame, never stand ‘you had rather’ and ‘you had rather.’ Your husband’s here at hand, bethink you of some conveyance. In the house you cannot hide him. O, how have you deceiv’d me! Look, here is a basket; if he be of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here, and throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking; or—it is whiting-time—send him by your two men to Datchet-mead.

Mrs. Ford. He’s too big to go in there. What shall I do?

Fal. [Starting from his concealment.] Let me see’t, let me see’t, O, let me see’t! I’ll in, I’ll in. Follow your friend’s counsel. I’ll in.

Mrs. Page. What, Sir John Falstaff? [Aside.] Are these your letters, knight?

Fal. [To Mrs. Page.] I love thee. Help me away.—Let me creep in here. I’ll never—

[Goes into the basket; they put clothes over him.]

Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy. Call your men, Mistress Ford. You dissembling knight!