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MONSIEUR the Curé down the street | |
Comes with his kind old face, | |
With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair, | |
And his green umbrella-case. | |
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You may see him pass by the little Grande Place, | 5 |
And the tiny Hôtel-de-Ville; | |
He smiles as he goes to the fleuriste Rose, | |
And the pompier Théophile. | |
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He turns, as a rule, through the Marché cool, | |
Where the noisy fish-wives call; | 10 |
And his compliment pays to the belle Thérèse, | |
As she knits in her dusky stall. | |
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There s a letter to drop at the locksmiths shop, | |
And Toto, the locksmiths niece, | |
Has jubilant hopes, for the Curé gropes | 15 |
In his tails for a pain dépice. | |
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There s a little dispute with a merchant of fruit, | |
Who is said to be heterodox, | |
That will ended be with a Ma foi, oui! | |
And a pinch from the Curés box. | 20 |
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There is also a word that no one heard | |
To the furriers daughter Lou; | |
And a pale cheek fed with a flickering red, | |
And a Bon Dieu garde Msieu! | |
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But a grander way for the Sous-Préfet, | 25 |
And a bow for Maamselle Anne; | |
And a mock off-hat to the Notarys cat, | |
And a nod to the Sacristan: | |
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For ever through life the Curé goes | |
With a smile on his kind old face | 30 |
With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair, | |
And his green umbrella-case. | |
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