Formed a reverend exterior.
Outsides are often deceptive:
He that, by the binding, judges
Of a Book and its Author
May, after a page of reading,
Chance to recognize his mistake.

Il etait ne pour la surprise.
Ses cheveux blancs, sa barbe grise,
Formaient un sage exterieur.
Le dehors est souvent trompeur;
Qui juge par la reliure
D'un ouvrage et de son auteur
Dans une page de lecture
Peut reconnaitre son erreur.

"That was my own experience; for of wisdom I could find nothing except
in his gray hair and decrepit appearance. His first opening betrayed
him; no great well of wit this Marechal,

Who, drunk with his own grandeur,
Informs you of his name and his titles,
And authority as good as unlimited.
He cited to me all the records
Where his name is registered,
Babbled about his immense power,
About his valor, his talents
So salutary to France;--He forgot that, three years ago

[Six to a nearness,--"15th September, 1734," if your Majesty will be
exact.]

Men did not praise his prudence.

Qui, de sa grandeur enivre;
Decline son nom et ses titres,
Et son pouvoir a rien borne.
Il me cita tous les registres
Ou son nom est enregistre;
Bavard de son pouvoir immense,
De sa valeur, de ces talents
Si salutaires a la France:
Il oubliait, passe trois ans,
Qu'on ne louait pas sa prudence.

"Not satisfied with seeing the Marechal, I saw the guard mounted

By these Frenchmen, burning with glory,
Who, on four sous a day,
Will make of Kings and of Heroes the memory flourish:
Slaves crowned by the hands of Victory,
Unlucky herds whom the Court
Tinkles hither and thither by the sound of fife and drum.

A ces Francais brulants de gloire,
Dotes de quatre sous par jour,
Qui des rois, des heros font fleurir la memoire,
Esclaves couronnes des mains de la victoire,
Troupeaux malheureux que la cour
Dirige au seul bruit du tambour.

"That was my fated term. A deserter from our troops got eye on me,
recognised me and denounced me.

This wretched gallows-bird got eye on me;
Such is the lot of all earthly things;
And so of our fine mystery
The whole secret came to light."

Ce malheureux pendard me vit,
C'est le sort de toutes les choses;
Ainsi de motre pot aux roses