Ce n'est que lorsqu'il expira Que le peuple, qui l'enterra, pleura. - Pierre-Jean de Béranger

Translation: In spite of their hats being very ugly, Goddam! I love the English.

Each year his mighty armies marched forth in gallant show,
Their enemies were targets, their bullets they were tow.

Ye Gods! but she is wondrous fair! For me her constant flame appears;
The garland she hath culled, I wear On brows bald since my thirty years.
Ye veils that deck my loved one rare, Fall, for the crowning triumph's nigh.
Ye Gods! but she is wondrous fair! And I, so plain a man am I!