lie.
But men like me burn with a discreet fever,
And we keep your sweet secrets safe forever.
The concern we have for our good reputation
Will also preserve you in your own station;
In us you will find, if you wish it, my dear,
Love without scandal, pleasure without fear.
Elmire. I have heard your words, and your rhetoric
Leaves your point clear--though you lay it on thick.
Aren't you afraid that I could be in the mood
To tell my husband of your solicitude,
And that a sudden knowledge of that sort
Might set back your hopes of his lasting support?
Tartuffe. I know that you are only too gracious
And that you will forgive my audacious
Deeds since they spring from a human failing
In that passionate love that you are bewailing,
And that you will reflect when you view things afresh
That I am not blind, and a man's only flesh.
Elmire. Others might take things differently, I suppose,
But discretion prevails, and I won't expose
This matter to my spouse. In return, it's true,
I do want one little favor from you:
To push forward without any sly snare
The wedding of Mariane and Valere,
To renounce on your own the unjust power
That would enrich you with another's dower,
And . . .

SCENE IV
Elmire, Damis, Tartuffe

Damis [coming out of the closet in which he was hiding]. No, madam, no. All this must be exposed.
By hiding here I've heard all he proposed,
And God in His goodness has guided me
To confound this noisome bastard's treachery,
To discover a way to take my vengeance
For his hypocrisy and insolence,
To wake up my father, and to justly screw
This scumbag who wants to make love to you.
Elmire. No, Damis. It's enough if he has striven
To reform and merit the pardon I've given.
Don't make me retract what I have avowed.
I don't choose to discuss scandal out loud:
A woman laughs at these masculine foibles,
And never plagues her mate with paltry troubles.
Damis. You have your own reasons for acting so,
And I have reasons for my quid-pro-quo.
The very thought of sparing him is a joke,
And the insolent pride of this base bloke
Has triumphed too often over my just wrath,
And has sown too much