Who can hereafter recognize his King Amid these actors who reign with thee? [45] Love has been set upon the throne of France. Theatric rage assassinates the court. The palaces of our kings, once worthy of respect, Lose all their éclat, become contemptible; None but merry-andrews inhabit them!... [46] A leech’s daughter and a leech herself, Fish of an arrogance extreme, Parades in this château, without fear or dread, The people’s substance and the monarch’s shame. [47] _Clément XIV. et les Jésuites_, by M. Crétineau-Joly. [48] See the very learned and complete work of M. Jobez: _La France sous Louis XV._ Six vols., Didier. [49] What is clearly conceived is clearly expressed, And the words to say it come easily. [50] Sainte-Beuve, _Causeries du Lundi_, t. viii. [51] Soubise says, lantern in hand, There’s no use looking, where the devil is my army? It was here yesterday morning, anyhow, Has some one taken it or have I lost it? Ah! I lose everything, I am a rattlepate; But wait till broad daylight, till noon. What do I see! O heaven! How my soul is enraptured! Wondrous prodigy, there it is, there it is!-- Ah! zounds! What is that then? I was mistaken, ’tis the enemy’s army. [52] Voltaire, _Siècle de Louis XV._ [53] See the witty and interesting work by M. Arsène Houssaye: _Louis XV._ 1 vol., Dentu. [54] The sun is sick, And so is Pompadour; ’Tis but a transient thing, For both are cured; The good God who aids Our wishes and our love, For the welfare of the world Restores to us the day With Pompadour. [55] You are too dear to France, To the god of arts and loves, To fear the deadly power of fate. All the gods watched over your life, All were animated by the zeal that inspires me; In flying to your rescue They have established their empire. [56] Bossuet. Sermon on Final Impenitence. [57] Room No. 116 of the _Notice du Musée_, by M. Eudore Soulié. [58] No. 122 of the _Notice_. [59] These lines, traced by a hand divine, Cannot but cause me trouble and embarrassment. ’Twere too much daring should my heart divine them; ’Twere too ungrateful not to guess them. [60] One should not be old except in Sparta, Say the ancient writings. Great God! how far I am out of the way, Who am so old in Paris. O Sparta! O Sparta! alas! what has become of you? You knew the full value of a hoary head.