Nos amis, les ennemis. - Pierre-Jean de Béranger

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

In Paris a queer little man you may see, A little man all in gray;
Rosy and round as an apple is he,
Content with the present whate'er it may be,
While from care and from cash he is equally free, And merry both night and day!
"Ma foi! I laugh at the world." says he,
"I laugh at the world, and the world laughs at me!"
What a gay little man in gray.

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!