Direct reading · Original
Section 157
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Hostesse.
Nay sure, hee's not in Hell: hee's in Arthurs
Bosome, if euer man went to Arthurs Bosome: a made a
finer
end, and went away and it had beene any Christome
Child: a parted eu'n iust betweene Twelue and One,
eu'n
at the turning o'th'Tyde: for
after I saw him fumble with
the Sheets, and play with Flowers, and smile vpon his fin-
gers end, I knew there was but one way: for his Nose was
as sharpe as a Pen, and a Table of greene fields. How now
Sir Iohn (quoth I?) what man? be a good cheare: so a
cryed out, God, God, God, three or foure times: now I,
to comfort him, bid him a should not thinke of God; I
hop'd there was no neede to trouble himselfe with any