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Enter PISTOL, HOSTESS, NYM, BARDOLPH, and BOY
PISTOL, HOSTESS, NYM, BARDOLPH, and BOY enter.

HOSTESS
Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.
HOSTESS
Please, sweet husband, let me come with you as far as the town of Staines.

PISTOL
No; for my manly heart doth earn.—Bardolph, be blithe.— Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins.—Boy, bristle thy courage up. For Falstaff, he is dead, and we must earn therefore.
PISTOL
No, because my manly heart is grieving. Bardolph, be happy.—Nym, rouse your bragging spirits.—Boy, be brave. Falstaff is dead, and we must mourn him.

5
BARDOLPH
Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in heaven or in hell.
BARDOLPH
I wish I were with him, wherever he is—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. He made a finer end, and went away an it had been any christom child. He parted ev'n just between twelve and one, ev'n at the turning o' th' 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 he told of green fields. “How now, Sir John?” quoth I. “What, man, be o' good cheer!” So he cried out “God, God, God!” three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him he should not think of God. I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So he 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.
HOSTESS
Oh, no, he’s surely not in hell. He’s in

Arthur’s bosom

The hostess means Abraham’s bosom, the proverbial resting place of good Christians, but has King Arthur on the brain.

Arthur’s bosom
, if any man ever went to Arthur’s bosom. He died as peacefully as a baby. He departed right between twelve and one, just as the tide was turning. For after I saw him fumbling with the sheets and playing with imaginary flowers and smiling at the ends of his fingers, I knew it was the end. His face was gaunt and he was babbling about green fields. “Now, now, Sir John!” I said. “What’s all this? Cheer up!” And he called out “God, God, God!” three or four times. To soothe him, I told him not to think of God, that I hoped it wasn’t yet time to bother with such thoughts. So he asked me to put more blankets on his feet. I put my hand into the bed and felt his feet, and they were stone-cold. Then I felt his legs, and they were stone-cold, and so I moved upward and upward, and his whole body was stone-cold.

NYM
They say he cried out of sack.
NYM
They say he cried out against sherry.

HOSTESS
Ay, that he did.
HOSTESS
Yes, he did.