The Death of Falstaff
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 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 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 they were as cold
as any stone, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold as any
stone.
Henry V Act II Scene ii
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