ORGON
I want none of your love.
DORINE
Then I will love you in your own despite.
ORGON
You will, eh?
DORINE
Yes, your honour's dear to me;
I can't endure to see you made the butt
Of all men's ridicule.
ORGON
Won't you be still?
DORINE
'Twould be a sin to let you make this match.
ORGON
Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper!
DORINE
What! you are pious, and you lose your temper?
ORGON
I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense;
Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue.
DORINE
Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking.
ORGON
Think all you please; but not a syllable
To me about it, or . . . you understand!
(Turning to his daughter.)
As a wise father, I've considered all
With due deliberation.
DORINE
I'll go mad
If I can't speak.
(She stops the instant he turns his head.)
ORGON
Though he's no lady's man,
Tartuffe is well enough . . .
DORINE
A pretty phiz!
ORGON
So that, although you may not care at all
For his best qualities . . .
