Be propitious and well-inclined,
Our Lady of Saint Lo,
To him who only water hates
Of all things here below!
PHŒBUS.
Give to the brave
In every place
A well-filled cellar,
A pretty face.
Happy fellow!
Help him hold
Dainty women,
Wine that's old.
If a beauty
Of cold mien
Be unwilling,
'Tis sometimes seen,
He jokes with her
With merry winks,
Then he sings,
Then he drinks!
The day goes by.
Or drunk or not,
He soon embraces
His Toinotte;
Then ferocious
He goes to bed
In a cannon's mouth,
And sleeps like lead!
And his soul,
Which often seems
To mix up women
With his dreams,
Is contented if the wind,
With its come and go,
Rocks the canvas of his tent
Gently to and fro!
CHORUS.
Be propitious and well inclined,
Our Lady of Saint Lo!
To him who only water hates
Of all things here below.
[Enter Claude Frollo, who seats himself at a table at some distance from Phœbus, and appears at first to observe nothing that passes around him.
VISCOUNT DE GIF (to Phœbus).