Géronte: Ah! What a wildness of speech! I beg you, monsieur, to make her dumb again.
Sganarelle: That is impossible. All that I can do for you is to make you deaf, if you like.
Géronte: You shall marry Horace this very evening.
Lucinde: I will sooner marry death.
Sganarelle: Let me take this disease in hand. It is a complaint that has got hold of her, and I know the remedy to apply.
Géronte: Is it possible that you can cure this mental malady also?
Sganarelle: Yes; let me manage it. I have remedies for everything, and our apothecary is the man for this cure. (He calls the apothecary, and speaks to him.) You see that the passion she has for this Léandre is quite against the wishes of her father, and that it is necessary to find a prompt remedy for the evil, which will only become worse by delay. For my part, I see but one remedy, a dose of purgative flight suitably mixed with two drachms of matrimony in pills. Go and take a little turn in the garden with her to prepare the humours, while I talk here with her father; but, above all, lose no time. Apply the remedy at once—apply the specific remedy.
[Exeunt Léandre and Lucinde. Enter Lucas and Martine.
Lucas: Your daughter has run away with Léandre. He was the apothecary, and this is the doctor who has performed the operation.