e.] Adieu, my daughter. I'll say no more.
But I don't intend to darken your door
For a long, long time. You've fallen from grace.
[Slapping Flipote.] Hurry up, there! Don't stand staring into space!
Lord Almighty! I'll slap your silly face.
Go on, you slut, go on.

SCENE II
Cleante, Dorine

Cleante. I'm not following;
I'm sure there'd only be more quarrelling.
How that old harridan . . .
Dorine. Oh, how I regret
That she can't hear you use that epithet.
She'd tell you at length what she thinks of your wit,
And that she's not old enough to merit it.
Cleante. What a fuss she made about nearly nothing!
And what a passion for Tartuffe, her darling!
Dorine. Oh! Really, she's normal compared to her son,
And if you could see him, you'd say, "Here's one
Who's nuts!" During the war, he seemed quite sage,
And in serving his prince, showed some courage,
But now he's become an absolute fool
Since he gave himself up to Tartuffe's rule.
He calls him his brother and the love of his life--
More dear than mother, daughter, son, or wife.
He's the sole confidant of all his secrets
And the sole director of all his projects.
He caresses him, kisses him, and could not show a mistress
More love and affection than he gives to this
Leech. At dinner he gives him the highest place
And watches with joy as he stuffs his face
With cakes and tarts and often the best part
Of a pig, and if he should happen to hiccup or fart,
Says, "God be with you!" He's mad about him--
His honey, his hero. He always quotes him
And admires his deeds. His smallest acts are miracles
And even his stupidest words are oracles.
Tartuffe, who uses his dupe to make a buck,
Knows a hundred wily ways to pluck this duck;
He rakes off great sums with his biblical bull
And demands the right to censor us all.
His foolish footman has such presumption
That even he dares to give us instruction.
Madly preaching, he scatters with eyes afire
Our ribbons, our rouge, and our best attire.
Last night he ripped up with his own bare hands
A kerchief left lying in The Holy Lands,
Claiming our crime w