Act 2 - Scene 3
London. Before a tavern.
Enter PISTOL, Hostess, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy
Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.
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.
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 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
four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a'
should not think of God; I hoped there was no need
trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So
a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my
the bed and felt them, and they were as
cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and
they were as cold
as any stone, 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
A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he
A' said once, the devil would have him about women.
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