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Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him?

Mrs. Page. Of none but him, and swears he was carried out, the last time he search’d for him, in a basket; protests to my husband he is now here, and hath drawn him and the rest of their company from their sport, to make another experiment of his suspicion. But I am glad the knight is not here. Now he shall see his own foolery.

Mrs. Ford. How near is he, Mistress Page?

Mrs. Page. Hard by, at street end; he will be here anon.

Mrs. Ford. I am undone! the knight is here.

Mrs. Page. Why then you are utterly sham’d, and he’s but a dead man. What a woman are you? Away with him, away with him! Better shame than murther.

Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go? How should I bestow him? Shall I put him into the basket again?

[Enter Falstaff.]

Fal. No, I’ll come no more i’ th’ basket. May I not go out ere he come?

Mrs. Page. Alas! three of Master Ford’s brothers watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise you might slip away ere he came. But what make you here?