TARTUFFE Your words are somewhat hard to understand, Madam; just now you used a different style. ELMIRE If that refusal has offended you, How little do you know a woman's heart! How ill you guess what it would have you know, When it presents so feeble a defence! Always, at first, our modesty resists The tender feelings you inspire us with. Whatever cause we find to justify The love that masters us, we still must feel Some little shame in owning it; and strive To make as though we would not, when we would. But from the very way we go about it We let a lover know our heart surrenders, The while our lips, for honour's sake, oppose Our heart's desire, and in refusing promise. I'm telling you my secret all too freely And with too little heed to modesty. But--now that I've made bold to speak--pray tell me. Should I have tried to keep Damis from speaking, Should I have heard the offer of your heart So quietly, and suffered all your pleading, And taken it just as I did--remember-- If such a declaration had not pleased me, And, when I tried my utmost to persuade you Not to accept the marriage that was talked of, What should my earnestness have hinted to you If not the interest that you've inspired, And my chagrin, should such a match compel me To share a heart I want all to myself? TARTUFFE 'Tis, past a doubt, the height of happiness, To hear such words from lips we dote upon; Their honeyed sweetness pours through all my senses Long draughts of suavity ineffable. My heart employs its utmost zeal to please you, And counts your love its one beatitude; And yet that heart must beg that you allow it To doubt a little its felicity. I well might think these words an honest trick To make me break off this approaching marriage; And if I may express myself quite plainly, I cannot trust these too enchanting words Until the granting of some little favour I sigh for, shall assure me of their truth And build within my soul, on firm foundations, A lasting faith in your sweet charity. ELMIRE (coughing to draw her husband's attention) What! Must you go so fast?--and all at once Exhaust the whole love of a woman's heart? She does herself the violence to make This dear confession of her love, and you Are not yet satisfied, and will not be Without the granting of her utmost favours? TARTUFFE The less a blessing is deserved, the less We dare to hope for it; and words alone Can ill assuage our love's desires. A fate Too full of happiness, seems doubtful still; We must enjoy it ere we can believe it. And I, who know how little I deserve Your goodness, doubt the fortunes of my daring; So I shall trust to nothing, madam, till You have convinced my love by something real.