THIRD CHICKEN
[Shouting in his ear.] Do you not upon occasions vary your
Cockadoodledoo with Cackadaddledaa?

ANOTHER COCK
[Springing up at the right.] I, for one, entirely suppress the vowels: 
C-ck-d-dl-d!

CHANTECLER
[Trying to get away.] Is it a Welsh Rabbit dream?

ANOTHER COCK [Springing up at the left.] O-a-oo-e-oo!  Have you ever tried suppressing the consonants?

ANOTHER COCK [Pushing aside all the others.] I mix the whole thing up—­Cuck-o-deedle-daa!—­in a free and supple song!

CHANTECLER
My brain reels!

ALL THE COCKS
[Gathered about him, fighting.] No!  Cuckodee—­No, Cackadaa—­No,
Coocooroo—­

THE COCK
[Who mixes all up.] The free Cockadoodle!  The free crow is obligatory!

CHANTECLER
Pray, who is that, speaking with such authority?

FIRST CHICKEN
It is a wonderful Cock who has never sung at all.

CHANTECLER
[In humble despair.] And I am only a Cock who sings!

EVERYBODY [Drawing away from him in disgust.] I wouldn’t mention it if I were you!

CHANTECLER
I give my song as the rose-tree gives its Rose!

THE PEACOCK
[Sarcastically.] Ah, I was waiting for the Rose! [Pitying laughter.]

CHANTECLER [Low, nervously, to the BLACKBIRD.] Is my prospective slayer going to keep me waiting much longer?

EVERYONE
[Disgusted.] The Rose?  Oh!

THE GUINEA-HEN
If you must mention flowers, let them be rather less—­

THE PEACOCK
Elementary. [With the most disdainful impertinence.] So you are still
at the declension of Rosa?

CHANTECLER I am, you—­Peacock!  You, I suppose, may be forgiven for speaking slightingly of the Rose, being a rival candidate for the beauty prize. [Looking around him.] But I summon these Cocks, from Dorking to Bantam, to defend with me—­

A COCK
[Nonchalantly.] Pray whom?

CHANTECLER
The Rose, Rosam; to declare on the spot and forthwith—­

THE BLACKBIRD
[Ironically.] You set yourself up as the champion—­

CHANTECLER Rosarum, of roses, I do!—­To declare that worship is due—­

A COCK
To whom, pray?

CHANTECLER
To roses, rosis!—­in whose hearts sleep rain-drops like essences in
fragrant vials, to declare that they are, and ever will be—­

A VOICE [Cold and cutting.] Painted jades, things of naught! [All the fancy COCKS draw aside, revealing the WHITE PILE GAME COCK, who appears, tall and lean and sinister at the further end of their double row.]

CHANTECLER
At last!

THE BLACKBIRD
It’s time to climb up on the chairs!

CHANTECLER
[To the WHITE PILE.] Sir—­