DORANTE: Your daughter here agrees to the wishes of her father.
MADAME JOURDAIN: My daughter consents to marry a Turk?
DORANTE: Without doubt.
MADAME JOURDAIN: She can forget Cléonte?
DORANTE: What wouldn't one do to be a great lady?
MADAME JOURDAIN: I would strangle her with my own hands if she did something like that.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: That is just so much talk. I tell you, this marriage shall take place.
MADAME JOURDAIN: And I say there is no way that it will happen.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Oh, what a row!
LUCILE: Mother!