Act II, sc. 1
MISTRESS PAGE
What, have I scaped love-letters in the holiday-time of my beauty, and am I now a subject
for them? Let me see.
Reads
'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use Reason for his physician, he
admits him not for his counsellor. You are not young, no more am I; go to then, there's
sympathy: you are merry, so am I; ha, ha! then there's more sympathy: you love sack, and
so do I; would you desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page,--at the
least, if the love of soldier can suffice,--that I love thee. I will not say, pity me; 'tis not a
soldier-like phrase: but I say, love me. By me, Thine own true knight, By day or night,
Or any kind of light, With all his might For thee to fight, JOHN FALSTAFF'
What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked world! One that is well-nigh worn to pieces
with age to show himself a young gallant! What an unweighed behaviour hath this Flemish
drunkard picked--with the devil's name!--out of my conversation, that he dares in this
manner assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company! What should I say to
him? I was then frugal of my mirth: Heaven forgive me! Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the
parliament for the putting down of men. How shall I be revenged on him? for revenged I
will be, as sure as his guts are made of puddings.
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