"Gray scarce had done, when Chanticleer The Cock in mourning did appear; Two sons accompanied their sire, Like him in funeral attire, With hoods of crape and torches lighted, And doleful lays they both recited. Two others follow'd with a bier; Mournful and slowly they drew near, With heartfelt sighs and deepest groan, Their fav'rite sister to bemoan. "The Cock in tears the throne approach'd, And thus his sad harangue he broach'd: 'My Liege, have pity on a man, The most distressed of his clan, Who, with his children here before You, Is come, for vengeance to implore You On Reynard, who, with fell design, Hath done great harm to me and mine. When hoary Winter left the plain, And Spring smiled on the world again, When leaves were budding, daisies springing, And tuneful birds in thickets singing, The sun at dawn of morning found me With my young family around me; Ten sons and fourteen daughters fair, Breathing with joy the genial air, All of one breed, and full of life, Brought up by my good prudent wife. Protected by a massy wall And six bold mastiffs, stout and tall, They lived, in spite of Reynard crafty, Within a cloister-yard in safety. "But lo! our enemy contrived Our joy, alas! should be short-lived. In hermit's garb the traitor came, With letters, written in your name, Where strictest orders were express'd, To keep peace between bird and beast. He said, he scorn'd the joys of sense, And led a life of penitence, To expiate his former guilt, And streams of blood, which he had spilt; He vow'd, in future he would eat No poultry, nor forbidden meat. "All joyful, to my little crew, To tell the happy news I flew, That Reynard friar's garments wore, And was our enemy no more. Now for the first time we did venture Out of our gate. A dire adventure Awaited us; for whilst we stray'd And sported on a sunny glade, Reynard, conceal'd below a bush, Upon us suddenly did rush; One of my hopeful sons he slew, And of my fairest daughters two.-- Five only out of twenty-four Are left; the rest he did devour. My daughter Rake-up, on this bier, Slain by the murderer, lies here; He bit her neck off yesterday-- Revenge her death, my liege, I pray.' "'Sir Gray,(quoth Noble,) did you hear? Fine things of th' hermit-fox appear. Was't thus, that with his fasts he meant it? Sure as I live he shall repent it! "'Good Cock, we've heard your mournful tale, And we your daughter's fate bewail; Thus, first of all, we'll see the honour Of funeral rites bestow'd upon her; Next with our Council we shall further Consult, how to revenge this murther.'" NAYLOR.