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Page.

She is no match for you.

Fent.

Sir, will you hear me?

Page.

No, good Master Fenton.

Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender, in.

Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton.

[Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender.]

Quick.

Speak to Mistress Page.

Fent.

Good Mistress Page, for that I love your daughter

In such a righteous fashion as I do,

Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners,

I must advance the colors of my love,

And not retire. Let me have your good will.

Anne.

Good mother, do not marry me to yond fool.

Mrs. Page.

I mean it not, I seek you a better husband.

Quick.

That’s my master, Master Doctor.

Anne.

Alas, I had rather be set quick i’ th’ earth,

And bowl’d to death with turnips!

Mrs. Page.

Come, trouble not yourself. Good Master Fenton,

I will not be your friend nor enemy.

My daughter will I question how she loves you,

And as I find her, so am I affected.

Till then farewell, sir; she must needs go in,

Her father will be angry.

Fent.

Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, Nan.