Eastcheap. Before the Boar's Head tavern
Enter PISTOL, HOSTESS, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy
- Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to
- No; for my manly heart doth earn.
Bardolph, be blithe; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins;
Boy, bristle thy courage up. For Falstaff he is dead,
And we must earn therefore.
- Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in
heaven or in hell!
- 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 ev'n just
between twelve and one, ev'n at the turning o' th' tide; for
after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers,
and smile upon his fingers' end, I knew there was but one way;
for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbl'd 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 hop'd
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.
- They say he cried out of sack.
- Ay, that 'a did.
- And of women.
- Nay, that 'a did not.
- Yes, that 'a did, and said they were devils incarnate.
- 'A could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he never
- 'A said once the devil would have him about women.
- 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was
rheumatic, and talk'd of the Whore of Babylon.
- Do you not remember 'a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose,
and 'a said it was a black soul burning in hell?
- Well, the fuel is gone that maintain'd that fire: that's
all the riches I got in his service.
- Shall we shog? The King will be gone from Southampton.
- Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips.
Look to my chattles and my moveables;
Let senses rule. The word is 'Pitch and Pay.'
For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes,
And Holdfast 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.
- And that's but unwholesome food, they say.
- Touch her soft mouth and march.
- Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her]
- I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but adieu.
- Let housewifery appear; keep close, I thee command.
- Farewell; adieu.
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