Putting it straight in expedition.
Cheerly to sea! The signs of war advance!
No king of England, if not king of France!

[Flourish.]

[Exeunt.]



SCENE III. London. Before a tavern.

[Enter Pistol, Nym, Bardolph, Boy, and Hostess.]

HOSTESS.
Prithee, honey, sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.

PISTOL.
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.

BARDOLPH.
Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either 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. 'A made a finer end and went