| [Enter PISTOL, Hostess, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy] |
| Hostess
| Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring | thee to Staines.
| PISTOL No; for my manly heart doth yearn. Bardolph, | be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins: Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead, And we must yearn therefore. 5 BARDOLPH
| Would I were with him, wheresome'er he | is, either in heaven or in hell!
|
| Hostess Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's | bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' made a finer end and went away an it had been any christom child; a' parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now, sir John!' quoth I 'what, man! be o' good cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a' should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone. 10 15 20 25 NYM
| They say he cried out of sack.
|
| Hostess
| Ay, that a' did.
|
| BARDOLPH
| And of women.
|
| Hostess
| Nay, that a' did not.
| 30
| Boy
| Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils | incarnate.
| Hostess
| A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a | colour he never liked.
| Boy
| A' said once, the devil would have him about | women. 35
| Hostess
| A' did in some sort, indeed, handle women; | but then he was rheumatic, and talked of the whore of Babylon.
| Boy
| Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick upon | Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a black soul burning in hell-fire? 40
| BARDOLPH
| Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that | fire: that's all the riches I got in his service.
| NYM
| Shall we shog? the king will be gone from | Southampton. 45
|
| PISTOL Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips. | Look to my chattels and my movables: Let senses rule; the word is 'Pitch and Pay:' Trust none; For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck: Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys, To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! 50 55 Boy
| And that's but unwholesome food they say.
|
| PISTOL
| Touch her soft mouth, and march.
|
| BARDOLPH
| Farewell, hostess.
|
|
| [Kissing her]
|
| NYM
| I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but, adieu.
|
| PISTOL
| Let housewifery appear: keep | close, I thee command. 60
| Hostess
| Farewell; adieu.
|
|
| [Exeunt]
|
| |