DANS LES PRISONS DE NANTES.
In prison cell at Nantes
A hapless prisoner lay,
Gai, faluron, falurette,
A hapless prisoner lay.
Gai, faluron, dondé.
No human soul came nigh him,
Save the jailor's daughter gay:
With her fair hands supplying
His prison fare each day.
One morn he cried, half sighing:
"What do the gossips say?"
"Alas, they say to-morrow
Will be your dying day."
