POL. So, my fine fellow, shall your nice goings-on disturb your poor old
father every moment? You perform something new every day, and we never
hear of anything else.
VAL. What am I doing every day that is so very criminal? And how have I
deserved so greatly a father's wrath?
POL. I am a strange man, and very peculiar to accuse so good and
discreet a son. He lives like a saint, and is at prayers and in the
house from morning to evening. It is a great untruth to say that he
perverts the order of nature, and turns day into night! It is a horrible
falsehood to state that upon several occasions he has shown no
consideration for father or kindred; that very lately he married
secretly the daughter of Albert, regardless of the great consequences
that were sure to follow; they mistake him for some other! The poor
innocent creature does not even know what I mean! Oh, you villain! whom
Heaven has sent me as a punishment for my sins, will you always do as
you like, and shall I never see you act discreetly as long as I live?
(_Exit_).
VAL. (_Alone, musing_). Whence comes this blow? I am perplexed, and
can find none to think of but Mascarille, he will never confess it to
me; I must be cunning, and curb my well-founded anger a little.