YOU ARE GOING far away, far away from poor Jeannette;
There is no one left to love me now, and you, too, may forget,
But my heart will be with you, wherever you may go;
Can you look me in the face and say the same to me, Jeannot?

When you wear the jacket red and the beautiful cockade,
Oh! I fear that you'll forget all the promises you made;
With a gun upon your shoulder and your bayonet by your side,
You'll be taking some proud lady and making her your bride.

Or, when glory leads the way, you'll be madly rushing on,
Never thinking, if they kill you, that my happiness is gone;
If you win the day, perhaps a general you'll be;
Tho' I'm proud to think of that, what will become of me?

Oh! if I were Queen of France, or still better, Pope of Rome,
I'd have no fighting men abroad, no weeping maids at home;
All should be at peace; or if kings must show their might,
Why, let them who make the quarrel be the only men to fight.