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Page. Well what remedy Feston, heaven give thee joy!

What cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'è Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd.

Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your wedding

Mrs. Page. Well, I will must no further:-
Master Fenton,

Heaven give you many, many merry days!
Good husband, let us every one go home,
And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire;
Sir John and all.

Ford. Let it be so:-Sir John,

To master Brook you yet shall hold you word: For be, to-night, shall lie with Mrs. Ford.


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