. . Wait, I believe I would be better without a robe. . .
No, give it back, that will be better.
MUSICIAN: (Singing) I languish night and day, my suffering is
extreme Since to your control your lovely eyes subjected me; If you
thus treat, fair Iris, those you love, Alas, how would you treat an
enemy?
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: This song seems to me a little mournful, it
lulls to sleep, and I would like it if you could liven it up a
little, here and there.
MUSIC MASTER: It is necessary, Sir, that the tune be suited to the
words.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Someone taught me a perfectly pretty one some
time ago. Listen . . . Now . . . how does it go?
DANCING MASTER: By my faith, I don't know.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: There are sheep in it.
DANCING MASTER: Sheep?
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Yes. Ah! (He sings) I thought my Jeanneton As
beautiful as sweet; I thought my Jeanneton Far sweeter than a
sheep. Alas! Alas! She is a hundred times, A thousand times, more
cruel Than tigers in the woods! Isn't it pretty?
MUSIC MASTER: The prettiest in the world.
DANCING MASTER: And you sing it well.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: It's without having learned music.
MUSIC MASTER: You ought to learn it, Sir, as you are learning
dancing. They are two arts which have a close connection.
DANCING MASTER: And which open the mind of a man to fine things.
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