No, my dear, if you would be like one poet, be like Monsieur Boileau; he is the poet.' 'I don't think so.' 'How, not think so?
He wrote very respectable verses; lived and died much respected by everybody.

T'other, one bad dog, forced to fly from his country--died with not enough to pay his undertaker.' 'Were you not forced to flee from your country ?' 'That very true; but there is much difference between me and this Dante.
He fled from country because he had one bad tongue which he shook at his betters.

I fly because benefice gone, and head going; not on account of the badness of my tongue.' 'Well,' said I, 'you can return now; the Bourbons are restored.' 'I find myself very well here; not bad country.

Il est vrai que la France sera toujours la France; but all are dead there who knew me.

I find myself very well here.