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London. Before a tavern.
[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.
BARDOLPH
Would I were with him, wheresomere 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: he made a finer end, and went away and it had been any
christom child: he parted even just between twelve and one, even at the
turning of the 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 table of green fields. How
now sir John (quoth I)? what man? be of good cheer: So he cried out God,
God, God, three or four times: Now I, to comfort him, bid him he should not
think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such
thoughts yet: So he 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.
NYM
They say he cried out of sack.
HOSTESS
Aye, that he did.
BARDOLPH
And of women.
HOSTESS
Nay, that he did not.
BOY
Yes that he did, and said they were devils incarnate.
HOSTESS
He could never abide carnation, 'twas a color he never liked.
BOY
He said once, the devil would have him about women.
HOSTESS
He did in some sort (indeed) handle women: but then he was rheumatic, and
talked of the whore of Babylon.
BOY
Do you not remember he saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose, and he said it
was a black soul burning in hell.
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.
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.
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 humor of it: but adieu.
PISTOL
Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command.
HOSTESS
Farewell: adieu.
[Exeunt]