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Exeunt.

¶

Enter Fenton, Anne Page.

Fent.

I see I cannot get thy father’s love,

Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.

Anne.

Alas, how then?

Fent.

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,

And tells me ’tis a thing impossible

I should love thee but as a property.

Anne.

May be he tells you true.

[Fent.]

No, heaven so speed me in my time to come!

Albeit I will confess thy father’s wealth

Was the first motive that I woo’d thee, Anne;

Yet wooing thee, I found thee of more value

Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags;

And ’tis the very riches of thyself

That now I aim at.

Anne.

Gentle Master Fenton,

Yet seek my father’s love, still seek it, sir.

If opportunity and humblest suit

Cannot attain it, why then hark you hither!

[They converse apart.]

[Enter] Shallow, Slender, [Mistress] Quickly.