| [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, 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 they were as cold as any stone, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone. |
| NYM | They say he cried out of sack. |
| Hostess | Ay, that a' did. |
| BARDOLPH | And of women. |
| Hostess | Nay, that a' did not. |
| 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. |
| 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? |
| 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 humour of it; but, adieu. |
| PISTOL | Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command. |
| Hostess | Farewell; adieu. |
| [Exeunt] |