CHANTECLER [_Drawing away from them, in a terrible voice._] Stand back! I know your worth! [_The crowd hastily draws back._] THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Close by his side._] Come away to the woods, where true-hearted animals live! CHANTECLER No, I will stay here. THE PHEASANT-HEN After finding them out? CHANTECLER After finding them out. THE PHEASANT-HEN You will stay here? CHANTECLER Not for their sakes, but the sake of my song. It might spring forth less clear from any other soil! But now, to inform the Day that it is sure to be called tomorrow I will sing! [_Obsequious movement of the crowd, attempting to approach._] Back! All of you! I have nothing left but my song! [ALL _draw away, and alone in his pride, he begins._] Co--[_To himself, stiffening himself against pain._] Nothing left but my song, therefore let us sing well! [_He tries again._] Co--Now, I wonder, shall I take it as a chest-note, or--Co--a head-note? Shall I count one-three, or--Co--And the accent? Since they filled my head with all that sort of thing, I--Coocooroo--Keekee-ree--And the theory? The dynamic theory? Cock-a--I am all tangled up in schools and rules and rubbish! If he reduced his flight to a theory, what eagle would ever soar? Co--[_Trying again, and ending in a raucous, abortive crow._] Co--I cannot sing any more, I, whose method was not to know how, but be quite certain why! [_In a cry, of despair._] I have nothing left! They have taken everything from me, my song and everything else. How shall I get it back? THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Opening her wings._] Come away to the woods! CHANTECLER [_Falling upon her breast._] I love you! THE PHEASANT-HEN To the woods, where the simple birds sing their sweet unconscious songs! CHANTECLER Let us go! [_Both go toward the back._ CHANTECLER _turning._] But there is one thing I wish to say-- THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Trying to lead him away._] Come to the woods! CHANTECLER --to all the Guineahennery gathered beneath these arbors. Let the garden--the Bees agree with me, I fancy!--let the garden work untroubled at changing its blossoms into fruit-- BUZZING OF BEES _We agree--ee--ee_! CHANTECLER Nothing good is ever accomplished in the midst of noise. Noise prevents the bough-- BUZZING [_Further off._] _So say we--e--e! we--e--e_! CHANTECLER --from bringing its apple to perfection, prevents the grape-- BUZZING [_Dying away among the foliage._] _So say we--e--e_! CHANTECLER --from ripening on the vine. [_Going toward the back with the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Let us go! [_Turning and coming again angrily toward the front._] But I wish furthermore to say to these H--[_The_ PHEASANT-HEN _lays her wing across his beak._]--ens that those unnatural Cocks will lightly take themselves away, back to the gilded mangers of their sole affection, the moment they hear the cry of Chick-chick-chick-chick-chick! [_Imitating a servant girl calling_ CHICKENS _to feed._] For all those charlatans are stalking appetites, and nothing more!