LITMIR.BIZ

        You are the sole expounder of the doctrine;

        Wisdom shall die with you, no doubt, good brother,

        You are the only wise, the sole enlightened,

        The oracle, the Cato, of our age.

        All men, compared to you, are downright fools.

        I'm not the sole expounder of the doctrine,

        And wisdom shall not die with me, good brother.

        But this I know, though it be all my knowledge,

        That there's a difference 'twixt false and true.

        And as I find no kind of hero more

        To be admired than men of true religion,

        Nothing more noble or more beautiful

        Than is the holy zeal of true devoutness;

        Just so I think there's naught more odious

        Than whited sepulchres of outward unction,

        Those barefaced charlatans, those hireling zealots,

        Whose sacrilegious, treacherous pretence

        Deceives at will, and with impunity

        Makes mockery of all that men hold sacred;

        Men who, enslaved to selfish interests,

        Make trade and merchandise of godliness,

        And try to purchase influence and office

        With false eye-rollings and affected raptures;

        Those men, I say, who with uncommon zeal

        Seek their own fortunes on the road to heaven;

        Who, skilled in prayer, have always much to ask,

        And live at court to preach retirement;

        Who reconcile religion with their vices,

        Are quick to anger, vengeful, faithless, tricky,

        And, to destroy a man, will have the boldness

        To call their private grudge the cause of heaven;

        All the more dangerous, since in their anger

        They use against us weapons men revere,

        And since they make the world applaud their passion,

        And seek to stab us with a sacred sword.

        There are too many of this canting kind.

        Still, the sincere are easy to distinguish;

        And many splendid patterns may be found,

        In our own time, before our very eyes

        Look at Ariston, Periandre, Oronte,

        Alcidamas, Clitandre, and Polydore;

        No one denies their claim to true religion;

        Yet they're no braggadocios of virtue,

        They do not make insufferable display,

        And their religion's human, tractable;

        They are not always judging all our actions,

        They'd think such judgment savoured of presumption;

        And, leaving pride of words to other men,

        'Tis by their deeds alone they censure ours.

        Evil appearances find little credit

        With them; they even incline to think the best

        Of others. No caballers, no intriguers,

        They mind the business of their own right living.

        They don't attack a sinner tooth and nail,

        For sin's the only object of their hatred;

        Nor are they over-zealous to attempt

        Far more in heaven's behalf than heaven would have 'em.

        That is my kind of man, that is true living,

        That is the pattern we should set ourselves.

        Your fellow was not fashioned on this model;

        You're quite sincere in boasting of his zeal;

        But you're deceived, I think, by false pretences.

        My dear good brother-in-law, have you quite done?

        Yes.

        I'm your humble servant.

      (Starts to go.)

        Just a word.

        We'll drop that other subject. But you know

        Valere has had the promise of your daughter.

        Yes.

        You had named the happy day.

        'Tis true.

        Then why put off the celebration of it?

        I can't say.

        Can you have some other plan

        In mind?

        Perhaps.

        You mean to break your word?

        I don't say that.

        I hope no obstacle

        Can keep you from performing what you've promised.

        Well, that depends.

        Why must you beat about?

        Valere has sent me here to settle matters.

        Heaven be praised!

        What answer shall I take him?

        Why, anything you please.

        But we must know

        Your plans. What are they?

        I shall do the will

        Of Heaven.

        Come, be serious. You've given

        Your promise to Valere. Now will you keep it?

        Good-bye.

        CLEANTE

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