Whatever wrong
They find to charge me with, I'll not deny it
But guard against the pride of self-defence.
Believe their stories, arm your wrath against me,
And drive me like a villain from your house;
I cannot have so great a share of shame
But what I have deserved a greater still.
ORGON (to his son)
You miscreant, can you dare, with such a falsehood,
To try to stain the whiteness of his virtue?
DAMIS
What! The feigned meekness of this hypocrite
Makes you discredit . . .
ORGON
Silence, cursed plague!
TARTUFFE
Ah! Let him speak; you chide him wrongfully;
You'd do far better to believe his tales.
Why favour me so much in such a matter?
How can you know of what I'm capable?
And should you trust my outward semblance, brother,
Or judge therefrom that I'm the better man?
No, no; you let appearances deceive you;
I'm anything but what I'm thought to be,
Alas! and though all men believe me godly,
The simple truth is, I'm a worthless creature.
(To Damis)
Yes, my dear son, say on, and call me traitor,
Abandoned scoundrel, thief, and murderer;
Heap on me names yet more detestable,
And I shall not gainsay you; I've deserved them;
I'll bear this ignominy on my knees,
To expiate in shame the crimes I've done.
ORGON (to Tartuffe)
Ah, brother, 'tis too much!
(To his son)
You'll not relent,
You blackguard?
DAMIS
What! His talk can so deceive you . . .
ORGON
Silence, you scoundrel!
(To Tartuffe)
Brother, rise, I beg you.
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