Tartuffe

A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS Mme. Pernelle.  Let's go, Flipote, let's go. I hate this place.Elmire.  I can't keep up, you rush at such a pace.Mme. Pernelle.  Peace, my dear, peace; come no farther.I don't wish to cause you any bother.Elmire.  What duty demands, I insist on giving.But, mother, what has caused your hasty leaving?Mme. Pernelle.  I just can't stand the way your household runs . . .And no one cares what I wish to have done.Oh, yes, I leave your household quite dissatisfiedFor all my wise advice has been defied . . .And nobody respects me, and everybody shouts,And truly this is a home for the king of louts!Dorine.  If . . .Mme. Pernelle.   You, my dearie, are a bold lassy,A little brazen and very sassy,You butt into everything to speak your mind.Damis.  But . . .Mme. Pernelle.    You, grandson, are a fool of the worst kind.It is I, your grandmother, that pronounce this edictAnd to my son, your father, I have oft predictedThat you'll turn out to be a worthless wastrel,And give him in life a foretaste of Hell.Mariane.  I think . . .Mme. Pernelle.     My lord, his sister! You seem so discreetAnd so untainted, so very sweet,But the stillest waters are filled with scum,And your sly ways earn my revulsion.Elmire.  But . . .