A yard she had with pales enclosed about,
  Some high, some low, and a dry ditch without. 
  Within this homestead lived, without a peer
  For crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer; 40
  So hight her cock, whose singing did surpass
  The merry notes of organs at the mass. 
  More certain was the crowing of the cock
  To number hours, than is an abbey-clock;
  And sooner than the matin-bell was rung,
  He clapp’d his wings upon his roost, and sung: 
  For when degrees fifteen ascended right,
  By sure instinct he knew ’twas one at night. 
  High was his comb, and coral-red withal,
  In dents embattled like a castle wall; 50
  His bill was raven-black, and shone like jet;
  Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet;
  White were his nails, like silver to behold,
  His body glittering like the burnish’d gold. 
  This gentle cock, for solace of his life,
  Six misses had, besides his lawful wife. 
  Scandal that spares no king, though ne’er so good,
  Says, they were all of his own flesh and blood,
  His sisters both by sire and mother’s side;
  And sure their likeness show’d them near allied. 60
  But make the worst, the monarch did no more,
  Than all the Ptolemys had done before: 
  When incest is for interest of a nation,
  ’Tis made no sin by holy dispensation. 
  Some lines have been maintain’d by this alone,
  Which by their common ugliness are known.

    But passing this, as from our tale apart,
  Dame Partlet was the sovereign of his heart: 
  Ardent in love, outrageous in his play,
  He feather’d her a hundred times a day:  70
  And she, that was not only passing fair,
  But was with all discreet, and debonair,
  Resolved the passive doctrine to fulfil,
  Though loth; and let him work his wicked will: 
  At board and bed was affable and kind,
  According as their marriage vow did bind,
  And as the Church’s precept had enjoin’d. 
  Even since she was a se’ennight old, they say,
  Was chaste and humble to her dying day,
  Nor chick nor hen was known to disobey. 80

    By this her husband’s heart she did obtain;
  What cannot beauty, join’d with virtue, gain! 
  She was his only joy, and he her pride,
  She, when he walk’d, went pecking by his side;
  If spurning up the ground, he sprung a corn,
  The tribute in his bill to her was borne. 
  But oh! what joy it was to hear him sing
  In summer, when the day began to spring,
  Stretching his neck, and warbling in his throat;
  Solus cum sola then was all his note. 90
  For in the days of yore, the birds of parts
  Were bred to speak, and sing, and learn the liberal arts.