My Own Notes

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Jean-Baptiste Poquelin Molière

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Your fondness for him doesn't bother me.
Indulge it, and if it's not enough to consign
Your whole estate to him--then give him mine!
I freely consent and will sign on demand,
But please, please, do not offer him my hand,
And allow me to live in a convent where I
May count the sad days till God lets me die.

Young girls always play such religious pranks
When their fathers hobble their lusty flanks!
Get up! The harder you have to work to bear it,
The greater the virtue and the merit.
Let this marriage mortify your senses
And quit bothering me with your meek defenses.

But . . .

Keep quiet, and stay out of this matter.
I completely forbid you to add to the chatter.

If you will allow me to offer some advice . . .
Brother, your advice is worth any price:
It is thoughtful and I truly respect it,
But I hope you don't mind if I reject it.

ELMIRE [to her husband]
What can I think about what you're saying
Except that your blindness is quite dismaying!
You must be besotted and led astray
To refuse to believe what has happened today.
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