And he said, “Nor care I a jot that still you speak like some rough Irish new-climbed out of his bog, Pinky pearl!” Which was a gleek against me, but true, but also he was saying, my Will, how he loved me like I loved him, like brothers blood born, and this made me almost to weep tears from my eyes, that he said this to me, and because I knew he would starb because he was so bad sick.
And we talked from when we came the first to London, theaters and playacting we talked from, how he got so famous and brought monies because I was his impresario, which word I didn't know until I learned from the Italians at Court, making their musics, and we got monies enough to buy us a partnership share from The Globe. About which he said, “And what would our good Master Shakeself say would he espy me now, so aflame in my gut I'd no more dance than a pig fly, and no more wit for gleeks than a dunce can cipher!”
To which I said, “He'll be sorry we left The Globe, Will. Some day, wait and see, we'll still do the dare-journey across the Alp mountains to Italy, we'll be more rich and also famous than him, he'll be sorry he bought our share from his theater!” Which already I knew we never could, do another dare-journey like to Norwich, because by now, late the day, I could see he would certain starb.
He groaned loud from his pains and said, “Pinky sweet, who'll mourn poor Will Kempe when he's danced his last?”
Which I said, “Me, I'll mourn you, Will. And everyone who ever seen you dance and play jigs, all the good mensch in Bess's realm will mourn you, Will Kempe!”
“Keep you money in our purse, Pinky?” he asked me. “Shall you lay poor Will's bones in hallowed ground, though he n'er prayed? And shall you buy memorial rings for those who knew and loved me, Pinky? Ah, Pinky, I so hurt!” he said, and groaned and sweated more. And he said, “And will you take my motely came to me from good Dick Tarleton, and give it at The Globe so Bob Arnim will wear it as England's noblest Fool after me, Pinky?” Which I said I would, a promise I gave, to buy him memorial rings with his hairs in to give those who loved and knew him best, and promised I would give his motley to The Globe for Bob Arnim. But knew I wouldn't these promises keep, because he was my Will Kempe only, and because Bob Arnim wasn't a Fool near so good as my Will, he shouldn't get his motley that came from Dick Tarleton who was the greatest Fool before Will Kempe. Promises I made him before he starb, which I knew I wouldn't keep even if I said so.
Once he said, “I'd repent me all my whoring, Pinky, yet joyed in it like some ruttish brute I did, so where's the gain in gainsaying that which made life a gleek and a carouse? Ah, hot as a stag I was, and now grow cold for all the fire in my belly, Pinky! Oh, the hurt of it, yet I'll save breath for a last laugh, nor I'm not Will Kempe if I fail that oath!”
Which he did, fail to make a last laugh, because all he could do was groan from pains. The last he said was, “Will's a-cold, Will's a-cold, an' why so sudden dark? Light a taper, Pinky, for I'd leave see my Reaper full-face if he dare!” And he said again he was a-cold and it was all dark by us, which it wasn't yet full dark, we didn't need a taper, and then I think he starb, which I held him close tight, I could hear a little last groan, and felt his breathings the last on my cheek, and then I could feel him get cold while I held him. And then there was in a sudden big thunders and wind and rains falling down, which bumpkin country English think can be a sign from something to happen soon or was made by witches, which I don't think it was, just a bad storm came when my Will Kempe was gone.
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