Avaunt, minions. Avaunt! Conduct the lady hither, hostess; Bardolph another cup of sack. We will ruffle it, lad, and go to France all gold like Midas! Are mine eyes too red? I must look sad, you know, and sigh very pitifully. Ah, we will ruffle it! Another cup of sack, Bardolph;—I am a rogue if I have drunk to-day. And avaunt! vanish! for the lady comes! (He throws himself into what he feels is a gallant attitude, but that is one that suggests to the audience a man suddenly palsied trying to imitate a turkey cock and struts to the door. The lady that enters is on the staider side of sixty, but the years have touched her with unwonted kindliness and her form is still unbent, her countenance, although bloodless and deep furrowed still bears the traces of great beauty and she is unquestionably a person of breeding. Sir John advances to her with his peculiar strut; indubitably he feels himself a miracle of elegance.)
FALSTAFF
See, from the glowing East, Aurora Comes! Madam permit me to welcome you to my poor apartments; they are not worthy....
LADY SYLVIA
I would see Sir John Falstaff, sir.
FALSTAFF
Indeed, Madam, if those bright eyes—whose glances have already cut my poor heart into as many pieces as the man in the front of the almanac—will but desist for a moment from such butcher’s work and do their proper duty, you will have little trouble in finding the bluff soldier you seek.
LADY SYLVIA
Are you Sir John? The son of old Sir Edward Falstaff of Norfolk?
FALSTAFF