My Own Notes

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Jean-Baptiste Poquelin Molière

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She's making fun of you to your face, brother;
And, though I don't intend to be a bother,
I must frankly admit that there's some justice
In what she says.  What a crazy caprice
You have for him!  And how could he exert
Such charm that you'll even let your wife be hurt?
After taking this pauper into your heart,
You go so far . . .

Stop there!  Or we must part!
You don't know the man to whom you refer.

Okay. Say I don't know him if you prefer,
But then to know what sort of man he might be . . .

Brother, you'd be charmed if you could only see
Him, and your glee would be . . . gargantuan!
He's a man who . . . who . . . a man . . . well, a man!
Learn from him a peacefulness most exquisite,
That lets you drop your woes like . . . dried horseshit!
Yes, I've been reborn because of his preaching:
He teaches me that I shouldn't love anything,
From every earthly passion he has freed my life;
I'd watch my brother, mother, children, and wife
Drop dead without caring so much as that! [He snaps his fingers.]

You've sure got humane sentiments down pat!
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