Ah! non, non, non!
Pauvre Madelon
Shall never quit her rover:
Ah! non, non, non,!
Pauvre Madelon
Shall go with {you/me} all the world over.
La Gloire. By the mass, Madelon, such a wife as thou wilt be, would make a man, after another campaign,—for another I must have, to satisfy the cravings of my appetite,—go nigh to forswear the wars.
Madelon. Ah, La Gloire! would it were so! but the sound of a trumpet will ever lead thee after it.
La Gloire. Tut—a trumpet!—thy voice, Madelon, will drown it.
Madelon. Ah, La Gloire!