Racine: Phaedra

282
MOLIERE
Alceste [aside to Philinte]. Shame on you, you vile flatterer 1
you praise that rubbish ?
Oronte. If age—long expectation's pest
The ardor of my zeal must test,
To death at last I'll fly.
My purpose braves your ev'ry care
Fair Phyllis, men will soon despair
When doomed to hope for aye.
Philinte. The fall is pretty, lovable, admirable.
Alceste [aside to Philinte]. Plague take your fall, wretched
sycophant ! Deuce take you I I wish it had broken your
neck.
Philinte. I have never heard verses so skilfully turned.
Alceste [aside]. Zounds!
Oronte [to Philinte]. You are flattering me, and you think
perhaps . . .
Philinte. No, indeed^ I am not flattering you at all.
Alceste [aside]. Ha! what else are you doing, impostor?
Oronte [to Alceste]. But you, you remember the agreement
we made, and I beg of you to speak to me in all sin-
cerity.
Alceste. Sir, this is at all times a delicate matter, and we
always like people to praise us for our genius. But one
day I was saying to someone, whose name I will not
mention, on seeing verses of his composition, that a gen-
tleman should carefully guard against the hankering after
authorship which is apt to seize us ; that he should check
the great propensity we have of making a display of such
pastimes; and that by too great an eagerness to show
our productions we run the risk of making ourselves
ridiculous.
Oronte. Do you mean me to understand by this that I am
wrong in wishing . . .
Alceste. I do not say that. But I said to him that a lifeless
composition is very wearisome to those who read it ; that
such a weakness is sufficient to make a man the object of
unkind remarks: that, although in other respects he may
have the most sterling qualities, we generally judge of
men by their weakest side.
Oronte. Do you find fault with my sonnet?