Ang.
Ah! welcome death before I prove untrue.
Arg. And what does the father say to all that?
Cle. Nothing.
Arg. Then that father is a fool to put up with those silly things, without saying a word!
Cle. (trying to go on singing).
Ah! my love....
Arg. No; no; that will do. An opera like that is in very bad taste. The shepherd Tircis is an impertinent fellow, and the shepherdess Phyllis an impudent girl to speak in that way in the presence of her father. (To Angélique) Show me that paper. Ah! ah! and where are the words that you have just sung? This is only the music.
Cle. Are you not aware, Sir, that the way of writing the words with the notes themselves has been lately discovered?
Arg. Has it? Good-bye for the present. We could have done very well without your impertinent opera.