Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: James D. Mardock
Peer Reviewed

Henry V (Folio 1, 1623)

Enter Pistoll, Nim, Bardolph, Boy, and Hostesse.
Hostesse. 'Prythee honey sweet Husband, let me bring
825thee to Staines.
Pistoll. No: for my manly heart doth erne. Bardolph,
be blythe: Nim, rowse thy vaunting Veines: Boy, brissle
thy Courage vp: for Falstaffe hee is dead, and wee must
erne therefore.
830Bard. Would I were with him, wheresomere hee is,
eyther in Heauen, or in Hell.
Hostesse. Nay sure, hee's not in Hell: hee's in Arthurs
Bosome, if euer man went to Arthurs Bosome: a made a
finer end, and went away and it had beene any Christome
835Child: a parted eu'n iust betweene Twelue and One, eu'n
at the turning o'th'Tyde: for after I saw him fumble with
the Sheets, and play with Flowers, and smile vpon his fin-
gers end, I knew there was but one way: for his Nose was
as sharpe as a Pen, and a Table of greene fields. How now
840Sir Iohn (quoth I?) what man? be a good cheare: so a
cryed out, God, God, God, three or foure times: now I,
to comfort him, bid him a should not thinke of God; I
hop'd there was no neede to trouble himselfe with any
such thoughts yet: so a bad me lay more Clothes on his
845feet: 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
vp-peer'd, and vpward, and all was as cold as any stone.
Nim. They say he cryed out of Sack.
Hostesse. I, that a did.
850Bard. And of Women.
Hostesse. Nay, that a did not.
Boy. Yes that a did, and said they were Deules incar-
Woman. A could neuer abide Carnation, 'twas a Co-
855lour he neuer lik'd.
Boy. A said once, the Deule would haue him about
Hostesse. A did in some sort (indeed) handle Women:
but then hee was rumatique, and talk'd of the Whore of
Boy. Doe you not remember a saw a Flea sticke vpon
Bardolphs Nose, and a said it was a blacke Soule burning
in Hell.
Bard. Well, the fuell is gone that maintain'd that fire:
865that's all the Riches I got in his seruice.
Nim. Shall wee shogg? the King will be gone from
Pist. Come, let's away. My Loue, giue me thy Lippes:
Looke to my Chattels, and my Moueables: Let Sences
870rule: The world is, Pitch and pay: trust none: for Oathes
are Strawes, mens Faiths are Wafer-Cakes, and hold-fast
is the onely Dogge: My Ducke, therefore Caueto bee
thy Counsailor. Goe, cleare thy Chrystalls. Yoke-
fellowes in Armes, let vs to France, like Horse-
875leeches my Boyes, to sucke, to sucke, the very blood to
Boy. And that's but vnwholesome food, they say.
Pist. Touch her soft mouth and march.
Bard. Farwell Hostesse.
880Nim. I cannot kisse, that is the humor of it: but
Pist. Let Huswiferie appeare: keepe close, I thee
Hostesse. Farwell: adieu.