“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, e’en at turning of the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with the 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 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.” I will not comment upon this. I bow my head as one at a dear friend’s funeral and hold my tongue--loving and thanking those whom I hear weeping and sobbing around me. Sir John Falstaff was buried in the church of St. Michael Paternoster in the Royal, at the expense of Sir Richard Whittington, founder of that edifice, and Sir John’s faithful friend throughout his eventful life--more than ever towards its close. It is recorded that Sir Richard wept bitterly the loss of his ever dear but often estranged friend, and was given to chide severely those who spoke slightingly of Sir John Falstaff’s memory--saying that none knew Sir John Falstaff but himself; and that the waste of such a heart and brain as Sir John’s to humanity was a loss deplorable. All who had been kind or faithful to Sir John in his lifetime were well cared for by Sir Richard. He subsidised Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. But it was destined they should not prosper. They were bound for the French wars. They wasted Sir Richard’s bounty before starting. Nym and Bardolph were hanged for the pettiest larceny on the field of Agincourt. Heaven knows what became of Pistol, and Earth does not care. Sir Richard erected a simple tomb over the remains of Sir John Falstaff in the crypt of St. Michael Paternoster. King Henry the Fifth, on his return from France, in a remorseful fit, took his fair bride to see his old friend’s last resting-place. It is whispered that he left the church with reddened eyes. It is certain that he caused to be inlaid, at his own expense, on the marble tomb, the following inscription in brass:-- “WE COULD HAVE BETTER SPARED A BETTER MAN.” This might have been seen up to the year 1666, when the church of St. Michael Paternoster was burnt to the ground--and the last material traces of Sir John Falstaff’s existence faded from the memory of man, even as fades the recollection of having read a foolish book. FINIS. [Illustration: 305] End of Project Gutenberg’s The Life Of Sir John Falstaff, by Robert B. Brough