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-- THE PHEASANT-HEN You are never going to challenge that giant? CHANTECLER I am! To appear tall it is sufficient to talk on stilts! [_To the_ GAME COCK, _slowly crossing the stage toward him._] Know that such a remark is not to be endured, and permit me to tell you--[_Finding a_ CHICK _between himself and the_ GAME COCK, _he gently puts him aside, saying_] Run to your mother, tot! [_To the_ WHITE PILE, _looking insolently at his docked comb_]--that you look like a Fool who has mislaid his coxcomb! THE WHITE PILE [_Astonished._] Fool? Coxcomb? What? What? What? CHANTECLER [_Beak to beak with the_ GAME COCK.] What? What? What? [_A pause. They arch themselves, with bristling neck-hackle._] THE WHITE PILE [_Emphatically._] In America, during my grand tour, I killed three Claybornes in a day. I have killed two Sherwoods, three Smoks, and one Sumatra. I have killed--let me advise anyone fighting me to take something beforehand to keep down his pulse!--three Red-game at Cambridge and ten Braekels at Bruges! CHANTECLER [_Very simply._] I, my dear sir, have never killed anything. But as I have at different times succored, defended, protected, this one and that, I might perhaps be called, in my own fashion, brave. You need not take these mighty airs with me. I came here knowing that you would come. That rose was dangled to afford you the opportunity for brutal stupidity. You did not fail to nibble at its petals. Your name? THE GAME COCK White Pile. And yours? CHANTECLER Chantecler. THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Running desperately to the_ DOG.] Patou! CHANTECLER [_To_ PATOU, _who is growling between his teeth._] You, keep out of this! PATOU So I will, but it’s rrrrrrrough! THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To_ CHANTECLER.] A Cock does not risk his life for a Rose! CHANTECLER A slur upon a flower is a slur upon the Sun! THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Running to the_ BLACKBIRD.] Do something! This must be patched up--You know you had promised me! THE BLACKBIRD Everything can be patched up, my dear, except the quarrels of a fellow’s friends! THE GUINEA-HEN [_Giving loud cries of despair._] Horrible! Oh, horrible A five-o’clock tea at which guests kill each other! How dreadful--[_To her son._] that the Tortoise should not have got here yet! A VOICE [_Crying._] Chantecler, ten against one! THE GUINEA-HEN [_Seating her company, assisting the_ HENS _to climb upon flower-pots, cold-frames, pumpkins._] Quick! quick! THE BLACKBIRD Our charming hostess is in great feather, doing the honours of an affair of honour.