Now, tho' there may be some, whose gallant bearing
(And glean from this, Count, what it is I aim at,)
I might be proud to be allied to, yet
Being a veteran French soldier, stuff'd
With right enthusiastic loyalty,
My house, myself, my child—Heaven knows I love her!—
Should perish, piece-meal, ere I could infringe
The faintest line or trace of the proceeding,
The king, our master, honours me in marking.