DORINE
Poor man!
MADAME PERNELLE
My son, I cannot possibly
Believe he could intend so black a deed.
ORGON
What?
MADAME PERNELLE
Worthy men are still the sport of envy.
ORGON
Mother, what do you mean by such a speech?
MADAME PERNELLE
There are strange goings-on about your house,
And everybody knows your people hate him.
ORGON
What's that to do with what I tell you now?
MADAME PERNELLE
I always said, my son, when you were little:
That virtue here below is hated ever;
The envious may die, but envy never.
ORGON
What's that fine speech to do with present facts?
MADAME PERNELLE
Be sure, they've forged a hundred silly lies . . .
ORGON
I've told you once, I saw it all myself.
MADAME PERNELLE
For slanderers abound in calumnies . . .
ORGON
Mother, you'd make me damn my soul. I tell you
I saw with my own eyes his shamelessness.
MADAME PERNELLE
Their tongues for spitting venom never lack,
There's nothing here below they'll not attack.
ORGON
Your speech has not a single grain of sense.
I saw it, harkee, saw it, with these eyes
I saw--d'ye know what saw means?--must I say it
A hundred times, and din it in your ears?
MADAME PERNELLE
My dear, appearances are oft deceiving,
And seeing shouldn't always be believing.
ORGON
I'll go mad.
MADAME PERNELLE
False suspicions may delude,
And good to evil oft is misconstrued.
ORGON
Must I construe as Christian charity
The wish to kiss my wife!
MADAME PERNELLE
You must, at least,
Have just foundation for accusing people,
And wait until you see a thing for sure.
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