Frollo: Gringoire where has your lady gone? I never see her dance at Notre dame.
Gringoire: I don't really know where she has gone, priests and poets are not one. In women I see love; the church puts them below and my poems above.
Frollo: Where is she, your Esmeralda? The small Paris streets can't sing without her song.
Gringoire: She's alone in a tower of stone, far from those who fear all her powers unknown.
Frollo: Poet what do you say, is it this or that way? Do not use your words to play, have you seen her today?
Clopin: Where is she my Esmeralda? The kingdom I rule has lost all its splendour.
Gringoire: She is like a swallow of spring, that someone has caught and tied down the wings.
Gringoire: She is there in the prison called la-Sonte. If she can't get away that is where she will stay, until she is hung.
Clopin: You need tell me no more.
Frollo, Clopin & Gringoire: Where is she your Esmeralda? The small Paris streets can't sing without her song. She is like a swallow of spring, that someone has caught and tied down the wings