rine

Valere. I'm sorry, sir, that I've come to distress you;
But certain dangers may soon oppress you.
A friend, whose love for me is deep and true
And who knows how much I care about you,
Has had enough courage to violate
The secrecy of affairs of state
And has just now sent me word that you might
Be well-advised to take sudden flight.
The villain who has been imposing on you
Has gone to the Prince to accuse you too,
And put into his hands, like a blade of hate,
The vital papers of a traitor of State,
Which he says that you've kept in secrecy
Despite the duties of aristocracy.
I don't know the details of the alleged crime,
But a warrant against you has been signed,
And he himself is assigned to assist
Those who will soon come to make the arrest.
Cleante. Now his claims are well-armed; and the ingrate
Seeks to become master of your estate.
Orgon. I swear, that man is a vile animal!
Valere. The slightest trifling could well be fatal.
My coach is right here to take you away
With a thousand louis that I've pledged to pay.
Don't lose any time; the arrow has sped,
And this is one blow that ought to be fled.
I myself will guide you to a safe place
And will stay with you to be sure there's no chase.
Orgon. I owe you much for your solicitude!
But there isn't time for my gratitude,
And I pray to God to grant what I need
So that one day I may repay this good deed.
Farewell. The rest of you take care . . .
Cleante. Go on.
We'll look after everything when you're gone.

Final Scene
Police Officer, Tartuffe, Valere, Orgon, Elmire, Mariane, Madame Pernelle, Cleante, Damis, Dorine

Tartuffe [stopping Orgon]. Slowly, slowly, sir. You needn't run there.
You won't have to go far to hide in your lair.
In the Prince's name we will shackle you fast.
Orgon. Traitor, you've kept this final shaft for last.
This is the blow with which you dispatch me,
And this is what crowns all your perfidy.
Tartuffe. Your scorn causes me scant irritation;
I bear it as a holy obligation.
Cleante. This is scant sign of your moderation.
Damis. How impudently the wretch mocks veneration!
Tartuffe. None of your outbursts mean a t