How now, sweet Frank, why art thou
melancholy?
Shakespeare
FORD. If I do find it-well.
PAGE. I will not believe such a Cataian though the priest o'
th' town commended him for a true man.
FORD. 'Twas a good sensible fellow. Well.
MISTRESS PAGE and MISTRESS FORD come forward
PAGE. How now, Meg!
MRS. PAGE. Whither go you, George? Hark you.
MRS. FORD.
How now, sweet Frank, why art thou melancholy?
FORD. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you home;
go.
MRS. FORD. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.
Will you go, Mistress Page?
Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY
MRS. PAGE. Have with you. You'll come to dinner, George?
[Aside to MRS. FORD] Look who comes yonder; she shall
be our messenger to this paltry knight.
MRS.
