DORINE
So much so
I don't believe it even from yourself, sir.
ORGON
I know a way to make you credit it.
DORINE
No, no, you're telling us a fairly tale!
ORGON
I'm telling you just what will happen shortly.
DORINE
Stuff!
ORGON
Daughter, what I say is in good earnest.
DORINE
There, there, don't take your father seriously;
He's fooling.
ORGON
But I tell you . . .
DORINE
No. No use.
They won't believe you.
ORGON
If I let my anger . . .
DORINE
Well, then, we do believe you; and the worse
For you it is. What! Can a grown-up man
With that expanse of beard across his face
Be mad enough to want . . .?
ORGON
You hark me:
You've taken on yourself here in this house
A sort of free familiarity
That I don't like, I tell you frankly, girl.
DORINE
There, there, let's not get angry, sir, I beg you.
But are you making game of everybody?
Your daughter's not cut out for bigot's meat;
And he has more important things to think of.
Besides, what can you gain by such a match?
How can a man of wealth, like you, go choose
A wretched vagabond for son-in-law?
