Act IV: Scene VII
TARTUFFE (not seeing Orgon)All things conspire toward my satisfaction,Madam, I've searched the whole apartment through.There's no one here; and now my ravished soul ...
ORGON (stopping him)Softly! You are too eager in your amours;You needn't be so passionate. Ah ha!My holy man! You want to put it on me!How is your soul abandoned to temptation!Marry my daughter, eh?--and want my wife, too?I doubted long enough if this was earnest,Expecting all the time the tone would change;But now the proof's been carried far enough;I'm satisfied, and ask no more, for my part.
ELMIRE (to Tartuffe)'Twas quite against my character to playThis part; but I was forced to treat you so.
TARTUFFE.What? You believe ... ?
ORGON.Come, now, no protestations.Get out from here, and make no fuss about it.
TARTUFFE.But my intent ...
ORGON.That talk is out of season.You leave my house this instant.
TARTUFFE.You're the oneTo leave it, you who play the master here!This house belongs to me, I'll have you know,And show you plainly it's no use to turnTo these low tricks, to pick a quarrel with me,And that you can't insult me at your pleasure,For I have wherewith to confound your lies,Avenge offended Heaven, and compelThose to repent who talk to me of leaving.
Words in this poem
- tartuffe n.
- A hypocritical devotee. See the Dictionary of Noted Names in Fiction. [F. tartufe.]
- fuss n.
- A tumult; a bustle; unnecessary or annoying ado about trifles. [Cf. Fusome.]
- wherewith adv.
- With which; -- used relatively.
- repent a.
- Prostrate and rooting; -- said of stems. Gray. [L. repens, -entis, creeping, p. pr. of repere to creep.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Act IV: Scene VII is in the public domain. This text is taken from Tartuffe; Or, The Hypocrite, Project Gutenberg ebook #2027, the Curtis Hidden Page translation; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Molière, Act IV: Scene VII, in Tartuffe; Or, The Hypocrite (1908), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #2027, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/moliere-tartuffe/act-iv-scene-vii.html, id L26944.
Form and metre
Act IV: Scene VII is 37 lines in 8 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%).
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| TARTUFFE (not seeing Orgon) | 7 | ···/˘·· |
| All things conspire toward my satisfaction, | 11 | ··˘/····˘/˘ |
| Madam, I've searched the whole apartment through. | 10 | /˘····˘/˘· |
| There's no one here; and now my ravished soul ... | 10 | ·········· |
| ORGON (stopping him) | 5 | ··/˘· |
| Softly! You are too eager in your amours; | 11 | /˘···/˘··/˘ |
| You needn't be so passionate. Ah ha! | 10 | ·/˘··/˘˘·· |
| My holy man! You want to put it on me! | 11 | ·/˘········ |
| How is your soul abandoned to temptation! | 11 | ····˘/˘·˘/˘ |
| Marry my daughter, eh?--and want my wife, too? | 11 | /˘·/˘······ |
| I doubted long enough if this was earnest, | 11 | ·/˘·˘/···/˘ |
| Expecting all the time the tone would change; | 10 | ˘/˘······· |
| But now the proof's been carried far enough; | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| I'm satisfied, and ask no more, for my part. | 11 | ·/˘········ |
| ELMIRE (to Tartuffe) | 5 | ····· |
| 'Twas quite against my character to play | 10 | ·····/˘˘·· |
| This part; but I was forced to treat you so. | 10 | ·········· |
| TARTUFFE. | 2 | ·· |
| What? You believe ... ? | 4 | ··˘/ |
| ORGON. | 2 | ·· |
| Come, now, no protestations. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Get out from here, and make no fuss about it. | 11 | ··········· |
| TARTUFFE. | 2 | ·· |
| But my intent ... | 4 | ··˘/ |
| ORGON. | 2 | ·· |
| That talk is out of season. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| You leave my house this instant. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| TARTUFFE. | 2 | ·· |
| You're the one | 3 | ··· |
| To leave it, you who play the master here! | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| This house belongs to me, I'll have you know, | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| And show you plainly it's no use to turn | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| To these low tricks, to pick a quarrel with me, | 11 | ·······/˘·· |
| And that you can't insult me at your pleasure, | 11 | ····˘/···/˘ |
| For I have wherewith to confound your lies, | 10 | ···˘/·/··· |
| Avenge offended Heaven, and compel | 10 | ˘/˘/˘/˘·˘/ |
| Those to repent who talk to me of leaving. | 11 | ··˘/·····/˘ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.