London. Before a Tavern in Eastcheap.
 Enter PISTOL, NYM, BARDOLPH, BOY, and HOSTESS.

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

Pistol	No; for my manly heart doth erne.
	Bardolph, be blithe; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins;
	Boy, bristle thy courage up: for Falstaff he is dead,
	And we must erne 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 and it had been any christom child. A' parted 
	e'en just between twelve and one, e'en at the turning 
	o'th' 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' 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 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?

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 moveables.
	Let senses rule: the word is "Pitch and Pay".
	Trust none;
	For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes,
	And holdfast 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.
													[Kisses 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.
