THE BLACKBIRD
In a thin disguise of gauze!

THE WHITE HEN
Oh, a net—­at the end of a cane!

THE BLACKBIRD No harm in the cane—­it’s the kid at the other end of the cane! [Half aloud, watching the BUTTERFLY.] You neat little fop, sailing from rose to rose, to-night you’ll be neat as a pin can make you!

ALL
[Watching the cautious approach of the net beyond the wall.]
Nearer—­Nearer—­Hush!  He’ll catch it!—­No he won’t!—­Yes, he will!

SUDDENLY OUTSIDE
Cock-a-doodle-doo!

[At the sound, the BUTTERFLY flies off.  The NET wavers a moment, with an effect of disappointment, then disappears.]

SEVERAL HENS
What?—­Eh?—­What was it?

A HEN
[Who having hopped up on a wheelbarrow can follow the flight of the
BUTTERFLY.] He is off and away, over the meadow.

THE BLACKBIRD
[With ironical emphasis.] It’s Chantecler, practicing knight-errantry!

THE PIGEON
[With emotion.] Chantecler!

A HEN
He is coming!

ANOTHER HEN
He is just outside—­

THE WHITE HEN
[To the PIGEON.] Now you will see.  He’s a very fine bird indeed.

THE BLACKBIRD
[Thrusting his head between the bars.] Easy as possible to make, a
Cock!

THE TURKEY
[Admiringly.] Admirable amenity!

THE BLACKBIRD You take a melon—­a fine specimen, I will grant,—­for the trunk.  For the legs, two sticks of asparagus,—­prize sticks, of course.  For the head, a red pepper,—­as handsome as you may find.  For the eye, a currant,—­exceptionally clear and light.  For the tail, a sheaf of leeks, with luxuriant blue-green flags.  For the ear, a dainty kidney-bean, —­extra, superfine!—­And there you have him, there’s your Cock!

THE PIGEON
[Gently.] One thing you have omitted—­His heavenly clarion call!

THE BLACKBIRD [Indicating CHANTECLER, who now appears upon the wall.] Yes, but with the exception of that—­slight detail, you must own my portrait is a likeness.

THE PIGEON Not at all.  Not in the very least. [Contemplating CHANTECLER with a very different eye from the BLACKBIRD’S.] What I see, beneath that quivering hemlet, is Summer’s glorious and favoured knight, who, from a groaning wain at evening borrowing its golden harvest-robe has arrayed himself in this, and lifts it from the dust with a gleaming sickle!

CHANTECLER
[On the wall, in a long guttural sigh.] Coa—­

THE BLACKBIRD
When he makes that noise in his throat, he either is in love, or
preparing some poetic outburst.

CHANTECLER [Motionless on the wall, with head high.] Blaze forth in glory!—­Dazzle—­

THE BLACKBIRD
He’s letting off hot air!

CHANTECLER
Irradiate the world!

A HEN
Now he pauses—­one claw lifted—­