He took the poor Count for a sharper; and prudently advised M.de la Crochardiere not to be duped by him.

It was unluckily the good Marechal that proved to be duped.
He was born for surprise.
His white hair, his gray beard, 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 Tout le secret se decouvrit.
Well; we must take this glimpse, such as it is, into the interior of the young man,--fine buoyant, pungent German spirit, roadways for it very bad, and universal rain-torrents falling, yet with coruscations from a higher quarter;--and you can forget, if need be, the "Literature" of this young Majesty, as you would a staccato on the flute by him! In after months, on new occasion rising, "there was no end to his gibings and bitter pleasantries on the ridiculous reception Broglio had given him at Strasburg," says Valori, [_Memoires,_ i.

88.]--of which this Doggerel itself offers specimen.
"Probably the weakest Piece I ever translated ?" exclaims one, who has translated several such.