THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Sobbing.] Stand up to him, darling!  Oh, hit back!  Hit back!

A CHICK
Fellows, a nickname for the dawn!

ALL
Yes!  Yes!

[The WHITE PILE hurls himself upon CHANTECLER.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh, cruel!

THE BLACKBIRD
Chantecler’s Light o’ Love!

A VOICE
A nickname for the Cock!

ALL
Yes!  Yes!

THE BLACKBIRD
Grand Master of Illuminations!

ANOTHER VOICE
Purveyor of Sunny Beams!

CHANTECLER [Defending himself foot to foot.] Thanks!  Another quip, for I can still fight with my feet!

A VOICE
The Alarm-Cock!

CHANTECLER [Who seems upheld by their insults.] Another pun!  And I who know no more of fighting than can be learned on a peaceful farm—­

A VOICE
Thresh out his hayseed!

CHANTECLER
Thanks!  I—­[His torn feathers fly around him.]

CRY OF JOY
See his fur fly!

CHANTECLER
I feel—­Another pleasantry!

A VOICE
Lay on, Macfluff!

CHANTECLER
Thanks!  I feel that the more I am mocked, insulted, flouted, and denied—­

AN ASS
[Stretching his neck over the hedge.] Hee-haw!

CHANTECLER
Thanks!—­the better I shall fight!

THE WHITE PILE
[Chuckling.] He is game, but he’s giving out.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Enough.  Enough.  Oh, stop!

A VOICE
On White Pile, twenty to one!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Seeing CHANTECLER’S bleeding neck.] He bleeds, oh!

A HEN [Rising on tiptoe behind the GOLDEN PADUA COCK.] I should like to see the blood!

THE WHITE PILE
[Increasing the fury of his onset.] I’ll have your gizzard!

THE HEN
[Trying to see.] The Padua Cock’s hat shuts off my view!

THE BLACKBIRD
Hats off!

A VOICE
That was a stinger!  On his comb!

SHRILL CRIES
[From the crowd.] Land him one!  Do him up!  Lay him out!  Have his gore!

PATOU [Standing up in his wheelbarrow.] Will you stop behaving like human beings?

CRIES [Furiously keeping time with the blows showering upon CHANTECLER.] In the neck!  On the nut!  On the wing!  On the—­[Sudden silence.]

CHANTECLER [Amazed.] What is this?  The ring breaks up, the shouting dies—­[He looks around.  The WHITE PILE has drawn away and backed against the hedge.  A strange commotion agitates the crowd. CHANTECLER, exhausted, bleeding, tottering, does not understand, and murmurs.] What joke are they preparing against my end? [And suddenly.] Joy, Patou, joy!

PATOU
What?

CHANTECLER
I have done them an injustice.  All of them, ceasing to insult and mock
me, look, gather round me, closer and closer—­look!