I need not swear he had no list to crow; But cried, _cock, cock_, and gave a sudden start, As sore dismayed and frighted at his heart. For birds and beasts, informed by nature, know Kinds opposite to theirs, and fly their foe. So Chanticleer, who never saw a fox, Yet shunned him, as a sailor shuns the rocks. But the false loon, who could not work his will By open force, employed his flattering skill: I hope, my lord, said he, I not offend; Are you afraid of me, that am your friend? I were a beast indeed to do you wrong, I, who have loved and honoured you so long: Stay, gentle Sir, nor take a false alarm, For, on my soul, I never meant you harm! I come no spy, nor as a traitor press, To learn the secrets of your soft recess: Far be from Reynard so profane a thought, But by the sweetness of your voice was brought: For, as I bid my beads, by chance I heard The song as of an angel in the yard; A song that would have charmed the infernal gods, And banished horror from the dark abodes: Had Orpheus sung it in the nether sphere, } So much the hymn had pleased the tyrant's ear, } The wife had been detained, to keep the husband there. } My lord, your sire familiarly I knew, A peer deserving such a son as you: He, with your lady-mother, (whom heaven rest!) Has often graced my house, and been my guest: To view his living features does me good, For I am your poor neighbour in the wood; And in my cottage should be proud to see The worthy heir of my friend's family. But since I speak of singing, let me say, As with an upright heart I safely may, That, save yourself, there breathes not on the ground One like your father for a silver sound. So sweetly would he wake the winter-day, } That matrons to the church mistook their way, } And thought they heard the merry organ play. } And he to raise his voice with artful care, (What will not beaux attempt to please the fair?) On tiptoe stood to sing with greater strength, And stretched his comely neck at all the length: And while he strained his voice to pierce the skies, As saints in raptures use, would shut his eyes, That the sound striving through the narrow throat, His winking might avail to mend the note. By this, in song, he never had his peer, From sweet Cecilia down to Chanticleer; Not Maro's muse, who sung the mighty man, Nor Pindar's heavenly lyre, nor Horace when a swan. Your ancestors proceed from race divine: From Brennus and Belinus is your line; Who gave to sovereign Rome such loud alarms, That even the priests were not excused from arms. Besides, a famous monk of modern times[188] Has left of cocks recorded in his rhymes, That of a parish priest the son and heir, (When sons of priests were from the proverb clear,) Affronted once a cock of noble kind, And either lamed his legs, or struck him blind; For which the clerk his father was disgraced,