May a bolt of lightning now strike me dumb,
May everybody treat me like a bum
If either respect or force can hinder me
From blowing my top at this calamity!
For heaven's sake, control your displeasure.
Your father has merely mentioned this measure.
No one does everything he proposes.
How something opens may not be how it closes.
I need to stop this vulgar coxcomb's plot
And in two little words tell him what's what.
Whoa now! Why don't you let your stepmother
Manage him just as she does your father.
Over Tartuffe she has her own little ways
Of making him welcome all that she says,
And perhaps she makes his heart go pitter-patter.
Pray God it's true! That would be a fine matter.