1    Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.

2    No; for my manly heart doth yearn.
3    Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins:
4    Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,
5    And we must yearn therefore.

6    Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in
7    heaven or in hell!

8    Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's
9    bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' made
10   a finer end and went away an it had been any
11   christom child; a' parted even just between twelve
12   and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after
13   I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with
14   flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew
15   there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as
16   a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now,
17   sir John!' quoth I 'what, man! be o' good
18   cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three or
19   four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a'
20   should not think of God; I hoped there was no need
21   to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So
22   a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my
23   hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as
24   cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and
25   they were as cold as any stone, and so upward and
26   upward, and all was as cold as any stone.

27   They say he cried out of sack.

28   Ay, that a' did.

29   And of women.

30   Nay, that a' did not.

31   Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils
32   incarnate.

33   A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he
34   never liked.

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

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

38   Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick upon
39   Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a black soul
40   burning in hell-fire?

41   Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire:
42   that's all the riches I got in his service.

43   Shall we shog? the king will be gone from
44   Southampton.

45   Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips.
46   Look to my chattels and my movables:
47   Let senses rule; the word is 'Pitch and Pay:'
48   Trust none;
49   For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes,
50   And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck:
51   Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor.
52   Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms,
53   Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys,
54   To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!

55   And that's but unwholesome food they say.

56   Touch her soft mouth, and march.

57   Farewell, hostess.

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

59   Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command.

60   Farewell; adieu.