Page:Henry V (1918) Yale.djvu/43

Henry the Fifth, II. ii

Bardolph, be blithe; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins;

Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,

And we must yearn therefore.

Bard. Would I were with him, wheresome'er

he is, either in heaven or in hell!

Host. Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Ar-

thur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bo-

som. A' made a finer end and went away an it

had been any christom child; a' parted even just

between twelve and one, even at the turning o'

the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the

sheets and play with flowers and smile upon his

fingers' ends, 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 of 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 him-

self 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.

Host. Ay, that a' did.

Bard. And of women.

Host. Nay, that a' did not.

 9 Arthur's bosom; cf. n.

11 A': he

an: as if

12 christom: not yet a month old

17, 18 and a' babbled of green fields; cf. n.

29 of: against

sack: a white wine 