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.