Quickly, Nym, Bardolph, and Boy.
Quick.
Pry'thee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring
thee to Staines.
Pist.
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.
Bard.
'Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is,
either in heaven, or in hell.
Quick.
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 end3 note, 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' the tide: for after I saw him fumble
with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon
his finger's end, I knew there was but one way; for his
nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green
fields4 note. How now, sir John? quoth I: what, man! be
of good cheer. So 'a cried out—God, God, God! three
or four times: now I, to comfort him, bid him, a' should
-- 494 --
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.
Nym.
They say, he cried out of sack.
Quick.
Ay, that 'a did.
Bard.
And of women.
Quick.
Nay, that 'a did not.
Boy.
Yes, that 'a did; and said, they were devils incarnate.
Quick.
'A could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour
he never liked.
Boy.
'A said once, the devil would have him about
women.
Quick.
'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?
Bard.
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.
Pist.
Come, let's away.—My love, give me thy lips.
Look to my chattels, and my moveables:
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 is but unwholesome food, they say.
-- 495 --
Pist.
Touch her soft mouth, and march.
Bard.
Farewell, hostess.
[Kissing her.
Nym.
I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but
adieu.
Pist.
Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command.
Quick.
Farewell; adieu.
[Exeunt.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
