markets with wastepaper.

HEN. His writings, his speeches, in short, everything in him is
unpleasant to me; and I feel towards him as you do. But as he
possesses great ascendancy over my mother, you must force yourself to
yield somewhat. A lover should make his court where his heart is
engaged; he should win the favour of everyone; and in order to have
nobody opposed to his love, try to please even the dog of the house.

CLI. Yes, you are right; but Mr. Trissotin is hateful to me. I cannot
consent, in order to win his favour, to dishonour myself by praising
his works. It is through them that he was first brought to my notice,
and I knew him before I had seen him. I saw in the trash which he
writes all that his pedantic person everywhere shows forth; the
persistent haughtiness of his presumption, the intrepidity of the good
opinion he has of his person, the calm overweening confidence which at
all times makes him so satisfied with himself, and with the writings
of which he boasts; so that he would not exchange his renown for all
the honours of the greatest general.

HEN. You have good eyes to see all that.

CLI. I even guessed what he was like; and by means of the verses with
which he deluges us, I saw what the poet must be. So well had I
pictured to myself all his features and gait that one day, meeting a
man in the galleries of the Palace of Justice [footnote: the resort of
the best company in those days.], I laid a wager that it must be
Trissotin--and I won my wager.

HEN. What a tale!