ACT ISCENE IMadame Pernelle and her servant Flipote, Elmire, Mariane, Dorine, Damis, CleanteMme. Pernelle. Let's go, Flipote, let's go. I hate this place.Elmire. I can't keep up, you rush at such a pace.Mme. Pernelle. Peace, my dear, peace; come no farther.I don't wish to cause you any bother.Elmire. What duty demands, I insist on giving.But, mother, what has caused your hasty leaving?Mme. Pernelle. I just can't stand the way your household runs . . .And no one cares what I wish to have done.Oh, yes, I leave your household quite dissatisfiedFor all my wise advice has been defied . . .And nobody respects me, and everybody shouts,And truly this is a home for the king of louts!Dorine. If . . .Mme. Pernelle. You, my dearie, are a bold lassy,A little brazen and very sassy,You butt into everything to speak your mind.Damis. But . . .Mme. Pernelle. You, grandson, are a fool of the worst kind.It is I, your grandmother, that pronounce this edictAnd to my son, your father, I have oft predictedThat you'll turn out to be a worthless wastrel,And give him in life a foretaste of Hell.Mariane. I think . . .Mme. Pernelle. My lord, his sister! You seem so discreetAnd so untainted, so very sweet,But the stillest waters are filled with scum,And your sly ways earn my revulsion.Elmire. But . . .Mme. Pernelle. Daughter, my views may make you mad,But your conduct in all things is all bad.In your family's eyes you should be an example-setter;In that respect their late mother did far better.You are extravagant, and it wounds me, I guess,To see you sashay about dressed like a princess.A woman who wishes only to please her mate,Dear daughter, need not primp and undulate.Cleante. Madam, after all . . .Mme. Pernelle. And her brother, as for you,I respect you, love you, and revere you, too,But finally, if I were my son, her spouse,I would at once beg you to leave this house.Without cease you teach your rules and mottosWhich decent people should never follow.I now speak frankly, but it is my part;I never spare the words that stir my heart.Damis. Your man Tartuffe is satisfied, no fear . . .Mme. Pernelle. He is a holy man whom all should hear,And I cannot bear, without great rue,To hear him mocked by a fool like you.Damis. What? Am I myself to bear a carping critic,A base usurper with a power tyrannic,Such that we can do nothing for diversionWithout hearing about that creep's aversion?Dorine. If we were to hear and obey his whims,We couldn't do anything without sinsFor he forbids all, this false Capuchin.Mme. Pernelle. And everything he forbids is well forbidden.He strives to guide you on the road to heaven,And it's my son's duty to make you love him.Damis. No, grandma, neither dad nor anyone elseCan oblige me to wish for his good health.I'd be false to myself if I didn't say this:When I see him around, I begin to get pissed.I can smell the outcome, and soon this cootAnd I will find ourselves in a grand dispute.Dorine. It's certainly a clear cause for remarkWhen a nobody acts like a patriarch,A beggar who was barefoot when he came henceAnd whose whole wardrobe wasn't worth two cents...!