Henry V — Act 2, Scene 3 · Shakespeare for Bharat

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 inheaven or in hell!

Hostess

Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur'sbosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' madea finer end and went away an it had been anychristom child; a' parted even just between twelveand one, even at the turning o' the tide: for afterI saw him fumble with the sheets and play withflowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knewthere was but one way; for his nose was as sharp asa pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now,sir John!' quoth I 'what, man! be o' goodcheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three orfour times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a'should not think of God; I hoped there was no needto trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. Soa' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put myhand into the bed and felt them, and they were ascold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, andthey were as cold as any stone, and so upward andupward, 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 devilsincarnate.

Hostess

A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour henever liked.

Boy

A' said once, the devil would have him about women.

Hostess

A' did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but thenhe was rheumatic, and talked of the whore of Babylon.

Boy

Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick uponBardolph's nose, and a' said it was a black soulburning 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 fromSouthampton.

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 c rystals. 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.

NYM

I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but, adieu.

PISTOL

Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command.

Hostess

Farewell; adieu.