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That quaint in green she shall be loose enrob’d,

With ribands pendant, flaring ’bout her head;

And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe,

To pinch her by the hand, and on that token,

The maid hath given consent to go with him.

Host.

Which means she to deceive, father or mother?

Fent.

Both, my good host, to go along with me.

And here it rests, that you’ll procure the vicar

To stay for me at church, ’twixt twelve and one,

And in the lawful name of marrying,

To give our hearts united ceremony.

Host.

Well, husband your device; I’ll to the vicar.

Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest.

Fent.

So shall I evermore be bound to thee;

Besides, I’ll make a present recompense.

Exeunt.

¶

Enter Falstaff, [Mistress] Quickly.

Fal. Prithee no more prattling. Go, I’ll hold. This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. Away, go. They say there is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. Away!

Quick. I’ll provide you a chain, and I’ll do what I can to get you a pair of horns.