VERDI

FALSTAFF

Falstaff reprimands his two cronies, Bardolph and Pistol:

FALSTAFF:

You have led me to ruin.

Costing a fortune just to keep you in service.

You guzzler!

Often we weave and wander,

Roam from tavern to tavern nightly,

Guided by that flaming nose of yours

There burning ever brightly.

But what you save me in oil

You spend on sack and sherry.

Thirty years I’ve watered

That massive over-ripened berry.

(to Bardolf)

Too expensive!

(to Pistol)

You included!

(shouting)

Waiter! Some more of the finest!

All I’ve got you’ve devoured.

A Falstaff worn and wasted

Is overlooked and under-valued.

By birth a noble,

I inspire tongues in chorus

To acclaim a girth so global.

PISTOL:

Falstaff stupendous!

BARDOLPH:

Tremendous Falstaff!

FALSTAFF: (patting his abdomen)

Here is my kingdom

And here I reign.

Falstaff clarifies the meaning of ‘honor’:

FALSTAFF:

Your honor! Scoundrels!

How dare you speak to me of honor?

You! You garbage from the sewers!

When even I at times

Have sacrificed my conscience.

Yes, even I .... I, too! .... I, too!

I have on rare occasions

Turned from the eye of heaven.

I have been forced to leave

The straight and narrow

To dabble in skulduggery and subterfuge,

Slight of hand, double-dealing.

You foul and filthy rabble,

In ragged cast-off clothing,

With shifty glances,

You dare to smirk and simper

About your honor!

Have you no pride?

What honor? Go on, go on!

All bubble and babble.

Can your honor fill your belly when empty? No!

And can honor mend a leg that’s broken? Oh, no!

An ankle? No! A finger? No! Or a whisker? No!

So honor’s not a surgeon.

What is it? Only a word.

A word, and what is it made of?

Only air floating onward.

Handy dandy!

This honor....does it endure hereafter? No!

Valued by the living? Unlikely!

Because inflated by flattery and fawning,

Or corrupted by envy,

Then swallowed up by slander.

I will have nothing of it, no!

I’ll not have it, no, no!

The ladies plot revenge on the presumptuous fat knight:

ALICE:

The tankard, the barrel!

As dashing young lover

In purple apparel

His heyday is over.

QUICKLY:

A flounder, a whopper!

A would-be wife-swapper,

A whale of a fellow,

Professedly smitten,

Cast up from the ocean

To land in Great Britain.

Pistol warns Ford of the impending threat:

PISTOL:

To put it briefly,

Old Falstaff’s plan is chiefly

To sneak into your house

There to make out with your spouse.

Though around your gold he hovers,

First he’ll plough beneath your covers.

Dr. Caius opts for caution:

DR. CAIUS:

After careful, close analysis

I can hardly help from wondering

If a doctor’s diagnosis

Would endorse the risk you run.

Though averse to mere paralysis,

Till you’re double sure that Alice is

In a cloud of wine and roses,

I suggest you hold the gun.

With these two I’m also acquainted.

What a lot! A motley crew!

No, sir, not exactly sainted,

Both are knaves and rascals, too.

NANNETTA:

Vendetta now plotted

I’m in on the party,

A promise of laughter

Triumphant and hearty.

Ford, posing as a Mr. Brooke, presents his plight to Falstaff:

FORD:

I love her -- she’s noncommittal.

My letters she dismisses;

My fervor matters little.

I plead, but still no kisses.

The gold I’ve spent, though vital,

I’ve squandered to my sorrow,

While hoping still that, despite all,

She’ll yield to me tomorrow.

In vain! Naught can persuade her!

My passion barely noted,

Rejected, yet still devoted,

I sadly serenade her.

Alone, after discovering that his wife has apparently responded to Falstaff’s advances, he is in torment:

FORD:

A nightmare? Or is it real?

Two ramlike horns upon my forehead have sprouted.

A dream, no?

Mister Ford! Mister Ford! Sleeping?

On your toes! Rise! Awaken!

Your wife corrupted, her vows invalidated,

Both your bed and your honor contaminated!

Messages bandied,

Their planning completed;

I am swindled and cheated.

And still they tell us

That the man who is jealous

Is demented.

All over town

Scorn and disdain, the knowing smile,

Idle banter, sly insinuation......

Why did I marry?

The torture!

Women! All lusting!

Only a fool dares remain blindly trusting.

Sooner I’d trust my beer to a German,

Sooner a bone before a starving spaniel,

Or stake my life upon a lottery

Than trust a wife left alone . . .

The women revel in their new-found power:

The curtain up, the comedy commences.

You merry women of Windsor,

The hour is now!

Now is the time ripe for laughter that cleanses,

Laughter that topples the braggart that swaggers,

An arsenal loaded with darts but no daggers.

Neighbors united!

With chuckles and chortles,

Join the brigade

Of fun-loving mortals

Storming the portals

Of pomp and of pride.

Be merry!

Discreet or outrageous,

The joy is contageous

And spreads far and wide.

Alert!

Falstaff, in somber mood, reflects upon this wicked world:

World of riff raff! World of corruption!

All rotten!

Bring a pitcher. Make it hot, make it mellow.

Outrageous!

So after long years of service,

A cavalier, a fearless fighter,

I’m folded up and stuffed into a basket

With a foul load of linen

And tossed into the river,

Discarded like a litter of defective puppies.

Had not my belly saved me,

Ballooning like a buoy,

I’d have gone under,

Soaked in water,

Swolen and bloated.

World of scum! Garden gone to seed.

Where now is virtue?

Go, old Sir John,

Go, go, old and unwanted,

To death just around the corner.

With me, the last remains of manhood

Will vanish from the earth.

I was so close to winning!

The worst day yet!

I just get fatter

While my hair keeps thinning.

Anne, as queen of the fairies, addresses her subject fairies:

ANNE:

In breezes light as gossamer

The boughs and bushes tremble.

Hurry, before the moon is down,

Elves of the night, assemble!

You dancers, follow the music

That guides our fairy throng.

Magic and grace are blended

When dance adorns the song.

The elves and imps conspire:

IMPS & ELVES:

We elfin community

Will rumple and tumble him,

A rare opportunity

To hassle and humble him.

Adopting a stronger line,

We’ll turn him to jelly

By forming a conga line

Across his big belly.

You flies and mosquitoes

Of swamp and of jungle,

This mass of libidos

Is yet to cry uncle,

Is yet to cry uncle,

Cry uncle, cry uncle.

ALICE, MEG, QUICKLY:

Smacking and whacking him,

Keep on attacking him;

Innocent frolic’ll

Turn diabolical . . .

Falstaff handles his own defence:

FALSTAFF:

All this rabble of boobies and their brothers

Belittle, mock and malign me.

Fools that they are!

For I’m not only witty in myself,

But I create the wit in others.

Yes, I supply the salt

That seasons the pudding,

The zest and flavor

You lesser mortals can savor.

All is summed up in a fugue:

Life is a laughing matter,

Man a bundle of folly,

Full of clamor and clatter, idle chatter,

Whether gloomy or jolly.

Lowly or mighty

Fickle and flighty,

We jesters are prone to bicker and brawl.

Ah, but the question yet festers:

Who will laugh last of all?

Now and hereafter,

Matter for laughter.