MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: D, D, Yes. Ah! What fine things! Fine things!
PHILOSOPHY MASTER: The F, by pressing the upper teeth against the
lower lip: F.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: F, F. That's the truth. Ah! My father and my
mother, how I wish you ill!
PHILOSOPHY MASTER: And the R, by carrying the tip of the tongue to
the top of the palate, so that being grazed by the air that comes
out with force, it yields to it and comes back always to the same
place, making a kind of trill: R. AR.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: R, R, AR. R, R, R, R, R, RA. That's true. Ah!
What a clever man you are! And how I have lost time! R, R, R, AR.
PHILOSOPHY MASTER: I'll explain to you all these strange things to
their very depths.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Please do. But now, I must confide in you. I'm
in love with a lady of great quality, and I wish that you would
help me write something to her in a little note that I will let
fall at her feet.
PHILOSOPHY MASTER: Very well.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: That will be gallant, yes?
PHILOSOPHY MASTER: Without doubt. Is it verse that you wish to
write her?
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: No, no. No verse.
PHILOSOPHY MASTER: Do you want only prose?
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: No, I don't want either prose or verse.
PHILOSOPHY MASTER: It must be one or the other.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Why?
PHILOSOPHY MASTER: Because, sir, there is no other way to express
oneself than with prose or verse.
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