Prithee, honey, sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.
Please, sweetheart, let me take you to Staines.
Come on, honey, let me escort you to Staines.
let me take u 2 staines sweetie
No; for my manly heart doth yearn.
Bardolph, be blithe; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins;
Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,
And we must yearn therefore.
No; because my manly heart aches. Bardolph, be cheerful; Nym, arouse your boastful spirits; Boy, build up your courage; because Falstaff is dead, and we must grieve for him.
No. My heart is breaking. Bardolph, cheer up. Nym, get fired up. Boy, buck up—Falstaff is dead and we need to mourn.
falstaff is dead we gotta mourn him
Would I were with him, wheresome’er he is, either in heaven or in hell!
I wish I were with him, wherever he is, whether in heaven or in hell.
I wish I was with him now, wherever he ended up—heaven or hell.
wish i was w him wherever he is
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 hop’d 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.
No, surely he's not in hell. He's in paradise, if any man ever went to paradise. He made a finer death and departed as if he had been a newborn christened child. He passed away right between twelve and one, at the turning of the tide: because after I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with flowers and smile at his fingertips, I knew there was but one way out; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and he babbled of green fields. "How now, Sir John!" I said to him; "come, man, be of good cheer." So he cried out "God, God, God!" three or four times. Now, to comfort him, I told him he should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with such thoughts yet. So he asked me to put 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 upward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone.
No, he's not in hell. He's in heaven, or at least in a blessed place. He died so peacefully, like a newborn baby. He went right between midnight and one, at the turning of the tide. I watched him touch the sheets and play with flowers and smile at his fingers, and I knew he was going. His nose got sharp like a pen, and he started talking about green fields. I asked him to cheer up, and he just cried out "God, God, God!" a few times. I tried to comfort him by telling him not to worry about God yet. He asked me to put more blankets on his feet. I put my hand in and they were ice cold. I checked up his legs and everything—stone cold.
hes in heaven. died so peaceful like a baby. nose got sharp talked abt green fields. everything went cold
They say he cried out of sack.
They say he cried out for wine.
People say he was asking for a drink.
they said he wanted wine
Ay, that ’a did.
Yes, he did.
Yeah, that's right.
yeah he did
And of women.
And of women.
And of women.
And of women.
The decision to report Falstaff's death rather than dramatize it is one of the most consequential artistic choices in the play. If Falstaff appeared, he would dominate the scene — and complicate everything. Henry cannot be the uncomplicated hero this play sometimes asks him to be if Falstaff is present, because Falstaff is the living emblem of everything Henry rejected when he became king. By killing him off-screen, Shakespeare gives us maximum pathos (the death is more moving for being reported than shown) while allowing the play to move on unencumbered. What's extraordinary is that Nell Quickly — a comic malaprop machine — is the one who delivers it. The most moving death in the play is told by the person least equipped to tell it eloquently. And that is exactly why it works.
Nay, that ’a did not.
No, he did not.
No, not about that though.
nah not abt that
The Boy is the most clear-eyed character in this play's low-life subplot — young, increasingly disgusted, and ultimately more morally grounded than the men he serves. Watch for his dry commentary; he is the one who will deliver the most damning assessment of Pistol, Nym, and Bardolph in 3-2.
Yes, that ’a did; and said they were devils incarnate.
Yes, he did; and he said they were incarnate demons.
Yes, he did—he said they were evil incarnate.
yeah he did said theyre demons
’A could never abide carnation; ’twas a colour he never liked.
He could never stand the color carnation; it was a color he never liked.
He hated the color pink—couldn't stand it.
he hated the color pink
’A said once, the devil would have him about women.
He said once that the devil would get him over his dealings with women.
He said the devil would come for him because of women.
he said devils r gonna come 4 him over women
’A did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was rheumatic,
and talk’d of the whore of Babylon.
He did indeed, in a manner, concern himself with women; but then he was confused and spoke of the whore of Babylon.
Yeah, he dealt with women, but he was delirious and ranting about biblical stuff.
yeah he dealt w women but got confused ranting abt hell
Do you not remember, ’a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph’s nose, and ’a
said it was a black soul burning in hell-fire?
Don't you remember, he saw a flea on Bardolph's nose, and he said it was a black soul burning in hellfire?
Remember when he saw a flea on Bardolph's nose and said it was a soul burning in hell?
he saw a flea on bardolphs nose said it was a soul burning
Well, the fuel is gone that maintain’d that fire. That’s all the riches
I got in his service.
Well, the fuel that maintained that fire is gone. That's all the wealth I gained from serving him.
Well, the thing that kept that fire burning is gone. That's all I got out of serving him.
thats all i got out of serving him
Shall we shog? The King will be gone from Southampton.
Should we leave? The King will have departed from Southampton.
Should we get going? The King's leaving Southampton.
should we go kings leaving southampton
'A babbled of green fields' — the Folio text printed this as 'a table of greene fields,' which makes no obvious sense. The emendation to 'babbled' was made by Nicholas Rowe in 1709 and has been nearly universally accepted since. What makes the line so powerful is its perfect reversal: Falstaff, the man of taverns, city alleys, royal courts, and comic excess, dies babbling about open green countryside. It is as if his soul — whatever residue of innocence survived all those years of Boar's Head debauchery — surfaced at the end, reaching back toward pastoral simplicity. Shakespeare might not have written these exact words. But whoever found them found the most affecting image in the scene.
Come, let’s away. My love, give me thy lips.
Look to my chattels and my movables.
Let senses rule; the word is “Pitch and Pay.”
Trust none;
For oaths are straws, men’s faiths are wafer-cakes
And hold-fast 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!
Come, let's go. My love, give me your lips. Watch my possessions. Let your senses rule; the rule is pay as you go. Trust no one; for promises are like straw, men's faith is like thin wafers, and keeping what you have is the only law, my duck; therefore, beware be your guide. Go, dry your tears. Fellow soldiers, let us to France; like leeches, my boys, to suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!
Let's go. Give me a kiss, love. Watch the stuff. Use your head—pay as you go, no credit. Don't trust anyone; promises mean nothing, people's word is worthless, and all that matters is holding onto what you've got. Watch yourself. Wipe your eyes. Brothers in arms, we're heading to France like bloodsuckers to drain everything dry!
lets go kiss me watch stuff. trust no one promises worthless. france time 2 bleed everyone dry
And that’s but unwholesome food, they say.
And that's unhealthy food, they say.
And that's not good for you, they say.
thats not healthy tho
Touch her soft mouth, and march.
Kiss her soft mouth and let's march.
Kiss her and let's go.
kiss her n lets go
Farewell, hostess.
Farewell, hostess.
Farewell, hostess.
Farewell, hostess.
I cannot kiss; that is the humour of it; but, adieu.
I cannot kiss; that is just my nature; but goodbye.
I don't kiss—that's just how I am—but farewell.
i dont kiss thats me bye
Let housewifery appear. Keep close, I thee command.
Let housekeeping be seen. Stay hidden, I command you.
Keep the household in order. Stay close and do what I say.
keep house in order stay close
Farewell; adieu.
Farewell; adieu.
Farewell; adieu.
Farewell; adieu.
The Reckoning
The most moving scene in Act 2, and one of the most moving in the play — entirely in prose, entirely in the mouths of characters who are also figures of fun. Nell Quickly's description of Falstaff dying is the greatest death scene for a character who never appears. It is simultaneously absurd and genuinely tender: the babbling about green fields, the feet cold as stone, the three or four cries of 'God, God, God.' Then Pistol rallies the group into war with the rhetoric of a horse-leech going to suck blood. The contrast is deliberately jarring. Something real has just ended, and these people are heading toward something that will end them too.
If this happened today…
The van is packed, bags in the back, everyone's ready for the road trip they've been dreading. Before they go, the girlfriend pulls them back into the kitchen to tell them about her husband's old friend who died last night. He kept calling out to God. His feet were cold. He seemed to find peace at the end. There's a pause that's hard to fill. Then the loudest one says: 'Right, let's go make some money. Horse-leeches, boys.' Nobody knows whether to laugh or cry. They drive away.