Those whom the whole world finds ridiculous Are always first in line to stick it to us. They never fail to sniff out and swiftly share The earliest rumor of a love affair, Sowing seeds of scandal with eager expedition And twisting truth past all recognition. In their own colors, they paint all others, Brazenly calling all men their brothers; In the faint hope of finding some resemblance, They try to give a gloss of innocence To their schemes or to make others share The burden of blame that is only theirs. Mme. Pernelle. All this hair-splitting is off the subject. Orante lives a life that is perfect With all her thoughts on heaven, and I hear That she deeply mourns the way you live here. Dorine. The lady herself is quite an example! You want a chaste life? She's a nice sample. But old age has stuck her in this zealous mood, And everyone knows she's a reluctant prude. 'Cause as long as she could snare a man's heart, She was more than willing to play her part. But now that her eyes have lost their luster, She leaves the world that already left her And uses a pompous veil of phony wisdom To hide the fact that her looks are gone. It's the last resort of the aging flirt, So peeved at having no man at her skirt That, alone and abandoned to solitude, Her only recourse is to become a prude. And these good women censure all with such Great severity; nor do they pardon much. They biliously blame immorality Not from charity, but only from envy That others are drinking in that pleasure From which old age now drains their measure. Mme. Pernelle [to Elmire]. Such idle tales form a silly song. In your home, my dear, I've been silenced too long Because, like a crap-shooter with the die, Madame won't give up her turn; but now my Chance has come. I applaud my son's great wisdom In opening his home to this holy person Who's been heaven-sent to meet your needs In turning from evil to God's holy deeds. For your soul's salvation, please pay attention: What he reprehends, merits reprehension. These visits, these balls, these conversations Are flawless signs of Satanic possession. In them you never hear the holy Credo-- Just songs, chatter, gossip, malice, and innuendo. Often the neighbors get stabbed to the heart By vicious lies from the third or fourth part. So good people suffer real anxiety From the sad confusion spread at your party. A slew of slanders are spread along the way And, as a doctor told me the other day, This is truly the Tower of Babylon Because everyone babbles on and on;