et us teach him a little how to talk!

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Oh Lord! Stop.

SCENE III (Philosophy Master, Music Master, Dancing Master, Fencing
Master, Monsieur Jourdain, Lackeys)

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Aha! Monsieur Philosopher, you come just in time
with your philosophy. Come, make a little peace among these
people.

PHILOSOPHY MASTER: What's happening? What's the matter, gentlemen.

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: They have got into a rage over the superiority
of their professions to the point of injurious words and of wanting
to come to blows.

PHILOSOPHY MASTER: What! Gentlemen, must you act this way? Haven't
you read the learned treatise that Seneca composed on anger? Is
there anything more base and more shameful than this passion, which
turns a man into a savage beast? And shouldn't reason be the
mistress of all our activities?

DANCING MASTER: Well! Sir, he has just abused both of us by,
despising the dance, which I practice, and music, which is his
profession.

PHILOSOPHY MASTER: A wise man is above all the insults that can be
spoken to him; and the grand reply one should make to such outrages
is moderation and patience.

FENCING MASTER: They both had the audacity of trying to compare
their professions with mine.

PHILOSOPHY MASTER: Should that disturb you? Men should not dispute
amongst themselves about vainglory and rank; that which perfectly
distinguishes one from the other is wisdom and virtue.

DANCING MASTER: I insist to him that dance is a science to which
one cannot do enough honor.

MUSIC MASTER: And I, that music is something that all the ages have
revered.

FENCING MASTER: And I insist to them that the science of fencing is
the finest and the most necessary of all sciences.

PHILOSOPHY MASTER: And where then will philosophy be? I find you
all very impertinent to speak with this arrogance in front of me,
and impudently to give the name of science to things that one
should not even honor with the name of art, and that cannot be
classified except under the name of miserable gladiator, singer,
and buffoon!

FENCING MASTER: Get out, you dog of a philosopher!

MUSIC MASTER: Get out, you worthless pedant!

DANCING MASTER: Get out, you ill-mannered cur!

PHILOSOPHY MASTER: What! Rascals that you are... (The philosopher
flings himself at them, and all three go out fighting).

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Monsieur Philosopher!

PHILOSOPHY MASTER: Rogues! Scoundrels! Insolent dogs!

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Mon