Alceste. We shall see.

Oronte. Hope … I do not know whether the style will strike you as sufficiently clear and easy and whether you will approve of my choice of words.

Alceste. We shall soon see, sir.

Oronte. Besides, you must know that I was only a quarter of an hour in composing it.

Alceste. Let us hear, sir; the time signifies nothing.

Oronte (reads).

Philinte. I am already charmed with this little bit.

Alceste (softly to Philinte). What! do you mean to tell me that you like this stuff?

Oronte.

Philinte. In what pretty terms these thoughts are put!

Alceste. How now! you vile flatterer, you praise this rubbish!

Oronte.

Philinte. The conclusion is pretty, amorous, admirable.

Alceste (softly, and aside to Philinte). A plague on the conclusion! I wish you had concluded to break your nose, you poisoner to the devil!

Philinte. I never heard verses more skilfully turned.

Alceste (softly, and aside). Zounds!…

Oronte (to Philinte). You flatter me; and you are under the impression perhaps…

Philinte. No, I am not flattering at all.

Alceste (softly, and aside). What else are you doing, you wretch?

Oronte (to Alceste). But for you, you know our agreement. Speak to me, I pray, in all sincerity.

Alceste. These matters, Sir, are always more or less delicate, and every one is fond of being praised for his wit. But I was saying one day to a certain person, who shall be nameless, when he showed me some of his verses, that a gentleman ought at all times to exercise a great control over that itch for writing which sometimes attacks us, and should keep a tight rein over the strong propensity which one has to display such amusements; and that, in the frequent anxiety to show their productions, people are frequently exposed to act a very foolish part.