Tartuffe, or, The French Puritan a comedy lately acted at the Theatre Royal / written in French by Moliere ; and rendered into English with much addition and advantage by M. Medbourne.

ACT. II.

SCEN. I.

Orgon. Mariana.

Org.

MAriana.

Mar.

Sir.

Orgon looks in the Apartment.

Org.

Come hither, Child, I have a secret for you.

Mar.

Pray what d' you look for, Sir?

Org.

My Child, I'm searching If any may be there that can o'r-hear us.

Looks in agen.

So now we're well: Mariana, I've observ'd, That from thine Infancy thou hast been meek, And an obedient child, for which I love thee;

Mar.

I stand indebted for your great affection.

Org.

'Tis well said, Child, and more to merit it. You ought to have a care still to content me.

Mar.

In that I place my highest glory, Sir.

Org.

Well said, my Chick; what thinkst thou then of Tartuffe?

Mar.

Who, I Sir?

Org.

You? take heed. Child, how you answer.

Mar.

Alas, Sir! I'll say any thing you'd have me.

Org.

'Tis wisely said; tell me then, my dear Child, If any signal merit in his person Has won upon thy heart; and, if it please thee, To see him by my choice preferr'd thy Husband.

Mar.

Ah me!

She retires surpriz'd.

Org.

What's the matter?

Mar.

Please you, Sir.

Org.

What?

Mar.

Am I surpriz'd?

Org.

How?

Mar.

Who would you have me say has won my heart? What prodigy is that you'd have to please me? Whom would your choice offer me as an Husband?

Org.

Tartuffe.

Mar.

I'le swear he has no influence here.

Points to her breast.

Why would you have me speak such an imposture?

Org.

But I will have it prove a verity; It is enough for you that he's my choice.

Mar.

Pray father, what—

Org.

Yes Daughter, I pretend To unite him to our family, by Marriage; I am resolv d that He shall be your Husband, And as I have a pow'r.—

Spies Dorina at the Entry.

SCEN. II.

Dorina. Orgon. Mariana.

What do you there?

to Dorina.

Your Curiosity is very strong, How durst you thus invade my privacy?

Dor.

I know not whether 'tis a false report, Or some conjecture, or a hit of chance, But of this Marriage I have heard some inkling, And I concluded twas but a meer fiction.

Org.

Then 't seems to you a thing incredible?

Dor.

So much incredible it seems indeed, That though you swear it Sir, I le not believe you.

Org.

I know the way to make you change your faith,

Dor.

Yes, yes, you tell us, Sir, a pleasant story.

Org.

I tell you justly what you'll quickly finde.

Dor.

You're merry Sir.

Org.

Daughter, I do not jest.

Dor.

All this is raillery, Madam, do'nt believe him.

Org.

I tell you—

Dor.

Nay Sir, you'll have enough to do. We do'nt believe you.

Org.

Do not provoke me hussy.

Dor.

The worst is yours, Sir, if it should be true, The world will say, Can a wise man that has A comely beard i'th' middle of his face Like him, be such a fool for to—

Org.

I prithee do not tempt me thus to anger; You've taken divers priviledges here, Which do not please me, friend, I tell you so.

Dor.

Let's talk without offence, Sir, I beseech you. What was your promise to Valere? a false one? Your Daughter Sir's not fit for such a Saint, He has Employments proper for his thoughts; Did Providence thus amply bless you Sir; And make you Master of such large Revenues,

To chuse a beggar for your son-in-law?

Org.

That does not any way concern you. Know for that cause we owe him reverence; No doubt his Misery comes not from desert, Fortune and vertue always are at odds. And that's the cause he should be priz'd bove greatness, Since that he suffer'd loss of his estate By the small care he took of temp'ral things, And strong appliance made to those eternal, But with my succour I may be a means, To settle him in his estate agen, His Titles in the Countrey are firm, And he s a Gentleman I can assure you.

Dorin.

Yes Sir, we know he tells you so, this boast Do's not at all become his piety, Whoe're pretends an innocent holy life, Ought not to vaunt his name, nor his Extraction, The humble process of Devotion, Can ill. digest Ambition's haughty phrase, But this discourse offends you; Could you without remorse possess this fellow, With such a precious Jewel as your Daughter? You ought Sir to consider decencies, And to prevent the sequels of this union. You run the hazard of your Daughter's virtue, The only way to keep her name from spot, Depends upon the Harmony that should Attend the freedom of united Lovers, Who only by their Parents will do wed, Think it no crime to graft their husbands head. 'Tis a great difficulty to live faithful, But especially with one of such a humour, Who gives his daughter to a man she loaths, Stands bound to Heaven for any fault she acts, Think to what perils your designs will bring you.

Or••.

What yet no end? my patience is quite tir'd; It seems that I must come to learn of you.

Dor.

You will not do amiss to take my counsel.

To his Daughter.

Org.

Do not reflect on any of these stories, I am your father, and I know your wants. I gave my word to Valere he should have you, But besides play, I'm told he is inclin'd, [And I suspect't] to be a Libertine: I have observ'd, he does not go to Church.

Dor.

Would you oblige him be preeise at houres, Like such who go a purpose to be seen.

Org.

I need not your advice about this business.

To Dorina.

The other Match is pleasing too to Heaven.—

To Mar.

Which is true riches beyond all comparison. Hymen will here all your desires complete, Your life will be all sweetness and all pleasure; Together you will live in innocence, Like little children, or as Turtle Doves. Debate will finde no harbour, 'twixt you two, And you may do with him e'en as you please.

Dor.

You'll make him but an Oph, as Nature made him.

Org.

How now? what's this discourse?

Dor.

He looks like one.

Dor.

I speak Sir, only for your interest.

Still as he speaks she interrupts.

Org.

You are too careful Mrs. Pert, be gone.

Dor.

Sir, if I did not love you.—

Org.

I would not have you—

Dor.

Sir, I will love you whether you will or no.

Org.

Ah—

Dor.

Your Honour's dear to me, I suffer in it, To see you sacrific't to every trifle,

Org.

I prithee peace.

Dor.

My Conscience wo'nt permit, That I should let you make such an Alliance.

Org.

Be silent Serpent, thy affrontive tongue—

Dor.

Let not your passion thus transport you, Sir.

Org.

Your idleness has so enrag'd my choller, That now I am resolv'd to silence you.

Dor.

Well: though I say nothing, I'le not think the less.

Org.

Think if thou wilt, but make it not thy business.

Dorina seems to stand silently.

To speak to me, when—so; like a wise man I have deliberately weigh'd every thing.

Dor.

What a vexation s this I must not speak?

He turns to Dorina, stands upright and silent, and then turns to Mariana.

Org.

Though Tartuffe, Daughter, be no great Gallant, Yet he is Master of those excellent parts—

Dor.

A goodly picture, Sir, indeed to look on.

Org.

If you can harbour any sympathy For all his other Gifts.

He turns before her, and looks upon her with his arms across.

Dor.

She's well holp up. If I were in her place, I'de shew you quickly, I'de not be forc'd to marry any body; And he should finde after the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 days,

A woman always has her vengeance ready,

Org.

You take no notice then of what I say?

To Dorina steruly.

Dor.

Why do you fret Sir, I say nothing to you.

Org.

Who do you talk to then?

Dor.

E'en to my self, Sir.

Org.

'Tis well: now to reward her Insolence.

aside.

I will surprize her with a cuff. o'th' ear.

He puts himself into a posture to give her a blow o'th' face. And Dorina at each glance of his eye stands demurely silent.

Daughter, you ought for to approve my Intention, And to believe the Husband—I've elected—

Why don't you speak?

Dor.

I can say nothing to you.

Org.

One little word.

To Mariana.

Dor.

It does not please me, Sir.

Org.

I shall box you Hussy.

To Dorina at a distance.

Dor.

A fool would take it faith.—

Org.

Come child, you ought to be obedient to me; Refer your self entirely to my choice.

Dor.

I scorn to marry such a Boobey, Sir.

Runs away till he's gone off, Org. strikes at her and mis∣ses her.

Org.

Oh that's a plague wench that waits upon you; She urges me to passion and to sin;

In rage.

I cannot live with her, nor can I utter What I intended, I am so enrag'd. Her insolent discourse has fir'd my thoughts That I must take the Aire to cool my self.

Exit.

SCEN. III.

Dorina, Mariana.

Dor.

Pray tell me truly, have you lost your tongue, And in this business must I act your part? That you could hear propos'd you such a project Without one word of answer or resentment.

Mar.

What should I do against a f ther's pow'r?

Dor.

What you are bound to do 'gainst such Proposals

Mar.

What's that?

Dor.

Why freely to declare your inward thoughts, As that your heart can't love by others liking: How that you marry for your self, not him, And since in this affair 'tis your concern, 'Tis you, not him, the Husband ought to please, Since Tartuffe is so charming in his eyes,

Let his own heart become his sacrifice.

Mar.

All this and more I justly might aver; But knowing a father's pow's so absolute, My courage fails me, I can answer nothing.

Dor.

Let us dispute it; Valere has made love to you; Pray tell me do you love him, I or no?

Mar.

Toward's my love thy injustice is too great; You should not ask that question, my Dorina! Have I not told thee one hundred times my heart? Thou know'st how strong my passion for him is.

Dor.

How should I know your tongue and heart agree? Or that those flames are real you pretend?

Mar.

You injure me Dorina, thus to doubt me; And my resentments have bin made too publick.

Dor.

In short, you love him then?

Mar.

Dorina, strangely.

Dor.

And in appearance he loves you so too.

Mar.

I do beneve he does.

Dor.

And both desire to be joyn'd in Marriage; ha?

Mar.

I think it seriously, my dear Dorina.

Dor.

And what do you resolve about this Union?

Mar.

To die Dorina, rather then be forc'd

Dor.

'Tis well; I did not dream of such a course: Death is a certain way to disingage you; The remedy is wonderful! I'm ma•• To hear you use such paltry ••••lly language.

Mar.

What spirit, my Dorina, does possess thee, That thou hast no compassion of my grief?

Dor.

I cannot pity those that tell sad tales, Whom I have found so meek on such occasions.

Mar.

What would'st thon have me do if I am timorous?

Dor.

Love in the heart requires constancy.

Mar.

Do not I keep it for my dear Valere? And ought not he t'obtain me from my father?

Dor.

But if your father be such a blind Buzzard, To be thus strangely taken with Tartuffe; And to break off that Union first design'd, The fault c ••'t be imputed to your Lover.

Mar.

Dost think it wou'd consist with Modesly, To own my Flames, and shew my heart's concern For my Valere? and on the contrary, T'express the real hate I have for Tartuffe? Will it not wrong the vertue of our Sex, Nor prejudice a Daughter'•• duty neither?

If I thought not, I'de tell it all the world. Give me thy counsel, wou'dst thou have me do this?

Dor.

No, no, I wou'd have nothing; I see you have An inclination to be Tartuff's wife; And I should do you injury to disswade you; 'Tis no small happiness to be his bed-fellow. He is a man famous in's Reputation, Of a good person, Noble Parentage: You'll live too happily with such a husband.

Mar.

Oh Heaven!

Dor.

What Joy will then possess your soul, To see your self the wife of such a Saint?

Mar.

Prithee leave off this strange discourse of thin••. And open me a way t'avoid this Marriage. Speak, I am silent, ready to obey.

Dor.

No, no, a Daughter must obey her father, Though he shu'd chuse a Monkey for her Husband? Your Fortune's very good, why d'ye complain? You shall ride down and see his Mannor-house, Which you shall finde replete with goods and servants, And all his Kindred waiting t'entertain you; And shall be visited at your first coming, By Mrs. Mayor, and Mrs. Constable; Nay more, be-honour'd with a groaning Chair, And in the Holy-days be nobly treated With charming Bag-Pipes, and the Morris dancers; And at the Countrey-Faits with Puppet-shows; And all this while your Husband —

Mar.

Ah! you kill me! Give me some succour rather by thy counsel.

Dor.

Your servant Madam—.

offers to go away.

Mar.

Ah Dorina! stay.!—

Dor.

All this must happen for your punishment.

Mar.

Nay, prithee Girle.

Dor.

No.

Mar.

If I declare my vows—

Dor.

No, Tartuffe's your man, you must be silent.

Mar.

You know that I have always trusted thee, Do me—

Dor.

No, no; you shall be Tar-tuf-fy-fi'd.

Mar.

Well: since my evil fortune cannot move thee, I prithee leave me now to my despair; From that my heart shall borrow its assistance; I know th'infallible Cure of misery.

offers to go in haste.

Dor.

Stay, stay, Madam, I'le lay aside my Anger, And spite of it will take some pity on you.

Mar.

Rather then to this Torture be expos'd, I'le chuse, Dorina, a most sudden death.

Dor.

Do not torment your self, for what we can Hinder with ease, and if I'm not mistaken, I have a plot will break the whole design— But hold, here comes Valere, your Lover Madam.

SCEN. IV.

Valere, Mariana, Dorina.

Val.

Madam, just now strange news attaqu'd my eare, Before to me unknown, and which I doubt May be too pleasing to you.

Mar.

Pray what is't?

Val.

That you must have Tartuffe to be your husband.

Mar,

'Tis very true, such a design my father has in's head.

Val.

Your father, Madam!

Mar.

Yes Sir, my Father has quite chang'd his minde, And came a purpose to propose it to me.

Val.

But are you serious?

Mar.

Yes in good truth I am; And for this Marriage highly he declares.

Val.

And what wou'd you in this affair design? Speak Madam.

Mar.

I can't tell.

Val.

The Answer's modest, You cannot tell?

Mar.

No.

Val.

No?

Mar.

What wou'd you counsel me?

Val.

I counsel you to take him for a husband.

Mar.

Is that your Counsel Sir?

Val.

Yes.

Mar.

But do you mean so?

Val.

Yes.

The Choice is noble, you ought to listen to't.

Mar.

'Tis well; I shall receive your Counsel Sir.

Val.

'Twill not pain you much to follow it.

Mar.

Not quite so much as you have felt to give it.

Val.

I gave't a purpose, Madam, for to please you.

Mar.

And to please you I shall accept it, Sir.

Dor.

'Tis pleasant to observe how they're entangl'd.

Val.

Madam, is this your love! oh fickle sex! Can you forget—

Mar.

Nay, do not speak of't, Sir, You frankly said, I ought to listen to't. And since he is presented by my father, I do declare that I pretend t' accept him, Since you have given me this wholesom Counsel.

Val.

Do not excuse your self with my Advice; Your resolutions were already made, You catch at every frivolous pretension, For an authority to break you word.

Mar.

'Tis true, and you say well.

Val.

And I do think, You never had a rea I passion for me.

Mar.

Be't so; y' have permission Sir to think.

Val.

Yes, I've permission; but

I'le prevent the like design.

Mar.

I do not doubt it; those ardours that excite True merit—

Val.

Mariana, do not talk on't; I have but little, and you have prov'd it now; But tis some comfort to me, Tha without shame they can repair my loss.

Mar.

The loss is little since by this one change, You can so easily find a reparation.

Val.

I will do what I can you may believe it; Our glory is engag'd to make't our business, VVhich though we cannot compass, we should feign it.

Mar.

Sir, this resentment's generous and noble.

Val.

'Tis well, and every one ought to approve it. How between love and passion am I split? Must I then see you clos'd in others armes? Not caring for that heart you have enslav'd

Mar.

All my designs require the contrary, For I cou'd wish the Marriage-knot were ty'd, So to unite our pre-engaged hearts.

Val.

But cou••d you wish it?

Mar.

Yes.

Val

These your insulting trials are too much; Madam farewel.

He makes a step forward, and returns.

Mar.

'Tis well done, Sir.

Val.

At least remember Madam, that 'tis you

Constrain my heart to this extremity.

Mar.

Yes.

Val.

And that design my heart has now conceiv'd. Is but to follow your example.

Mar.

To my example be it.

Val.

Enough, From this time forward, I'm no more your servant.

Offers to go.

Mar.

So much the better.

Val.

Look Madam; 'tis for ever.

Comes back.

Mar.

In good time Sir.

Val.

Ah me!

[Goes away, and at the door looks back and returns.

Mar.

Return'd so soon, pray what's the matter Sir?

Val.

Did you call me Madam?

Mar.

I call you, sure you dream.

Val.

Then I pursue my Journey. Farewel for ever Madam.

Mar.

Sir, farewel.

Dor.

Now do I think By this extravigance you both ha' lost your wits; I let you all this while pickeer on purpose, To see to what effect 'twou'd come at last, And here's a fair event, hold, hold, Valere.

She takes him by the arms, he seems to make a great resistan••e.

Val.

VVhat wou'dst thou have, Dorina?

Dor.

Sir, come back.

Val.

No, no, despite o'rewhelms me. Pray do not hinder what she'd have me do.

Dor.

Stay.—I request you.

Val.

No: thou seest it is resolv'd.

Dor.

What is?

Mar

My fight offends him, my presence drives him hence; I should do well to leave the place to him.

She goes; Dor. leaves Valere, and follows Mariana.

Dor.

Whither d' you run?

Mar.

Prithee Dorina leave me.

Dor.

Madam, you must come back,

Mar.

No, no, Dorina, in vain thou dost detain me,

Val.

I see my face is but a torment to her, And therfore I resolve to give her freedom.

Dorina holds Mariana by the hand and runs after Valere.

Dor.

Agen, sure O my conscience you are Both bewitch'd. Leave off this folly, and come hither both.

Draws 'em both together

Val.

What's thy design, Dorina?

Mar.

What dost thou mean to do?

Dor.

E'en put you both together, and make you friends. Are you both mad to be thus whimsical?

Val.

Did you not hear her what she said Dorina?

Dor.

As sure as can be, you are both distracted.

Mar.

Did not you see how ill he treated me?

Dor.

Forbear, good Madam, Sir, her chiefest care Is to preserve you hers: I am her witness.

To Valere

And he love•• only you; upon my life,

To Mariana.

His envie, Mad••m, tends to be your Husband.

Mar.

Why did he give me then such wicked counsel?

Val.

Why did she ask it then on such a subject?

Dor.

More folly yet? come lend me each a hand; Nay, dally not, dispatch.

Valere gives his hand.

Val.

Well, to what end?

Dor.

Come, now for yours. O fain I would but loth I am.

Mar.

What will all this come to?

Dor.

Advance, advance; come quickly, You love much better then you think for both.

Val.

Nay, Mariana, what you do, do chearfully.

Dor.

To say the truth, Lovers are full of frolicks.

Mariana smiles at Valere who spies her.

Val.

Madam, have I not reason to complain? And not to flatter, you were much unkind In taking pleasure to afflict me thus.

Mar.

But are not you the most ungrateful man—

Dor.

No more of this at present, let's contrive And think of putting by this horrid match.

Mar.

Think on some project we may put in practice.

Dor.

Come let us cast our plots in several formes; Your father's fond resolves shall never daunt you: If you think fit to follow my advice: For you 'twere better, to's extravigance, To lend the sweet appearance of consent, In case of an Alarm; that with more ease You may propose a longer day of marriage. By time we purchase remedy for all, Somtimes you may pretend you are not well; A sudden Sickness will procure delays. Another while may apprehend bad Omens; As that you met by chance with a dead man; Threw down the Salt, or dreamt of muddy waters; But if all these together will not do, One comfort yet remains, that all the world Can ne're oblige you, if you say not yes. But above other things I think if fitting That now you part, lest you be seen together. Go, and delay not, Master, all your friends.

To Valere.

To make him keep the promise that he made you: While we procure his brother to our side, And to our party joyn the Mother-in-law. So fare you well.

Val.

What force soever we can now prepare; In you is all my hope, for you my care.

To Mariana

Mar.

I cannot answer for a father's will; But be assur'd I am my Valere's still.

To Valere.

Val.

How I'm o'rewhelm'd with joy? and now I dare—

Dor.

Lovers are never weary of discourse: Go, get you gone, I say.

Valere goes a step and returns.

Val.

Well, to conclude—

Dor.

No more of this discourse. Here part, dear friends, and banish all your fears; Go, go, divide: courage till our next meeting.

Separates 'em, and pushes them off at severnl doors. Exeunt.

☞ Lord, what a coil is here! and now they're gone. Unless I play my part 'twill come to nothing. I have a crochet in my head that may, If it hit right, prevent much future trouble: Laurence, this Tartuffe's Man, pretends to me A kindness more then ordinary: I by him, Under pretence of yielding to his amours, Must dive into the secrets of his master; And if I can but find what I suspect, 'Tis not his Zealous port shall bear him out. I hug my self i'th' phansie; and see here (As if the Fates, propitious to my care T'effect my honest projects, did decree't) Laurence appears. I'le feign not to have seen him.

She offers to go.

SCEN. V.

Enter Laurence.

Laur.

Nay, sweet Dorina, what makes you haste away so fast? Did my approach affright you?

Dor.

No indeed, Laurence; but I was seriously going About a little business, and did not see you.

Laur.

Have you consider'd of what I imparted to you At our last meeting?

Dor.

I have.

Laur.

And will your phansie prompt you to hearken to my suit?

Dor.

Laurence, I thought You had seen no difference of Sex; and this has made Me sparing in receiving your addresses: and, I confess, My jocose humour wou'd not agree with your austere Retirements. But if you will promise—

Laur.

Hold, dear Dorina; if this be all you scruple at, I'le sati••fie you quickly: for by this light I am no More what I appear, then i•• —

Dor.

Who? prethee, Loll, tell me.

Laur.

My master.

Dor.

Why does thy master counterfeit?

Laur.

Nay, Dorina, too much of onething 's good for nothing. You desire too fast, that shall be the work of another time: I'le onely now give you an account of my self. Know then, Though I am Tartuff's Man, and receive wages of him, His agreement with my friends was otherwise; but since he Has got me fast, he uses me at his pleasure. I perceiving This, and to creep into his favour, pretended by his sanctity To be a Convert, and took upon me the humour you have Seen: and by this means have won so much upon him, That I am his Secretary, the Repository of his privacies, and What not? and (I must tell you) among all his acquaintance Have an Interest.

Dor.

But, Laurence, all this concerns me nothing; this Interest That you boast of, is the main thing I fear: the austerity Of your life, I doubt, will ne'r bear with my merry disposition.

Laur.

For that, Dorina, trouble not your self; I see you know me not; for if you did, You'd say that your temper and mine were both Modell'd alike; for I can be as blithe. And frolicksom as the most wanton Courtier.

[Sings with A ••tick postures, and after danc••s a J••g.

SONG.

Spend not thy time in vain, my Love, But answer my desires: Be bucksom, blithe, my pretty Dove, Meet me with ••qual fires.

For if thou longer dost delay; Thy beauties soon will fade thee: In honour thou art bound to pay Those dibis which Nature made thee.

Since my designs are fuir and just, How canst thou well deny me? In faithful Laurence thou mayst trust, Then come and lie down by me.

This is a touch to shew you that I can—

Dor.

Yea marry, this is somewhat like; I perceive there May be some hopes in the matter: but, Laurence, prethee Laurence, tell me one thing; does your master intend to marry With my mistress?

Laur.

'Tis so believ'd: nay Orgon himself gives credit to it; But my master—

Dor.

What does thy master, sweet Laurence?

Laur.

Why, Faith he has a further reach then marriage, Though perhaps he may seem to drive that nail too: He finds Orgon inclin'd to him, and he's resolv'd to Work upon his good nature: besides, Elmira 's fair, And of an affable deportment: but that's not all; When next we meet I may perchance give you further Intelligence: but (good Dorina) don't betray me; let Not my good will to thee be repay'd with treachery. I Know such courteous sweetness can carry no deceit. Let Me before I go kiss thy fair hand; stich favour Will encourage me to undertake the greatest hazards. Farewell, Dorina. Once agen farewell. Exit.

Dor.

So he is gone, and I'le no longer stay, But with this news fly, fly, to avoid delay.

Exit.

Notes

• Turning to Mar.
• Mariana gives hers after some seeming un¦w llingness
• He goes a little away, turning back says,