I'm not going to expose my paunch to danger; neither Armand [i.e. Cardinal Richelieu] nor the king know me; I want to find out just how long a coward like me can live without being a soldier or a captain.
I'd just die if in the middle of some battlefield, my drinking arm were mangled; so don't tell me that I'm as likely to die at the dinner table in my pots, as where courage would lead me.
Don't tell me that in the heat of battle I could become immortal by a noble death - I still won't rush out to a skirmish.
I want to die all in one piece, without glory or distinction, And - believe me, dear Clindor - if some orifice kills me, it won't be the mouth of a canon.