Luc Monologue from Monsieur De Pourceaugnac

From Monsieur De Pourceaugnac by Molière

male · anguished · 1:14 min

Eempurence! Baent yèu ashèe'amd o' yurzul vur to mak sport o' me, 'stid o' bein' abroke down wi' eenward feelins, that thee wicked 'art aurt vur to gee thee? (MR. POUR: Do you mean to say that I am your husband?) Villun! dis dare to zay tidn zo? Ah! thee's know wul 'nuf, wiss luck to me, that tis all zo treu's the Gauspel; an' I weesh to Heben twadn zo, an' that thee'ds alef me so èenocent an' so quiet like eens I used to be, avore thy charms an' thy trumpery, bad luck, made me vur to 'sake it all! I nivur sheudn abin abrought down vur to be the pour weesh thing that I be now--vur to zee my man, cruel like, mak a laughin' sport of all the love that I've a 'ad vorn, an' lef me athout one beet o' pity, vur the mortal pàin I've abeared, 'bout the shee'amful way 'eev asàrd me.

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