Chapter 4
THE OWLS Hush! [_They close their eyes._ THE CAT _does the same. After a time, hearing no further sound, they open them again._] It was nothing. Let us be off.
THE GROUP OF THE DISAFFECTED [_With fawning obsequiousness to the_ NIGHT-BIRDS.] Success to you, Owls,--success!
THE OWL Thanks! But how is it that you are with us?
THE CAT Ah, night brings out what daylight will not own to! I do not like the Cock because the Dog does.--There you have it!
THE TURKEY I do not like him, for the reason that having known him as a Chick I cannot admit him as a Cock!
A DUCK I do not like the Cock because, not being web-footed, he marks his passage by a track of stars!
A CHICKEN I do not like the Cock because I’m such a homely bird!
ANOTHER CHICKEN I do not like the Cock because he has his picture painted in purple on all the plates!
ANOTHER CHICKEN I do not like the Cock because on all the steeples he has his statue in gilt-bronze!
AN OWL [_To a big overgrown_ CHICKEN.] Well, well!--And you, Capon?
THE CAPON [_Dryly._] I do not like the Cock!
THE CUCKOO [_Beginning to strike eight inside the house._] Cuckoo!
FIRST OWL The hour!
CUCKOO Cuckoo!
SECOND OWL Let us go!
THE CUCKOO Cuckoo!
FIRST OWL The moon!
THE CUCKOO Cuckoo!
FIRST OWL Silently cleave the blue air--
THE CUCKOO Cuckoo!
THE MOLE [_Suddenly pushing up through the ground._]--the dark earth!
FIRST OWL There comes the Mole!
THE CUCKOO Cuckoo!
FIRST OWL [_To the_ MOLE.] And you, why do you hate him?
THE MOLE I hate him because I have never seen him!
THE CUCKOO Cuckoo!
FIRST OWL And you, Cuckoo, do you know why you hate him?
THE CUCKOO [_On the last stroke._] Because he does not have to be wound up! Cuckoo!
FIRST OWL And we do not love--
SECOND OWL [_Hurriedly._] We are keeping the others waiting--
ALL --the Cock, because--[_They fly off. Silence._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Coming slowly from behind the kennel._] I am beginning to love him!
CURTAIN
ACT SECOND
THE MORNING OF THE COCK
_Wild hillside, moss-grown and ferny, overlooking a valley with scattered villages and winding river. Ruined wall, fragment of some vanished terrace. Gigantic chestnut tree, rank hollies and foxgloves. Litter suggesting neglected corner of a park: gardening implements lying on the ground, fagots, broken flower-pots._
SCENE FIRST
_The_ NIGHT-BIRDS, _of all sorts and sizes, form a great circle, perching in tiers on the branches, the briers, the stones; the_ CAT _crouches in the grass; the_ BLACKBIRD _hops hither and thither on a fagot._
_At the rise of the curtain the_ NIGHT-BIRDS _are discovered, motionless, black shapes with closed eyes. The_ GRAND DUKE _is perched upon a tree branch above the rest. The_ SCREECH-OWL’S _phosphorescent eyes alone are wide open. He proceeds with the roll-call, and at every name two great round eyes brighten in the dark._
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Calling._] Strix! [_Two eyes light up._] Scops! [_Two more eyes light up._] Grand-Duke! [_Two more eyes._] Metascops! [_Two more eyes._] Minor! [_Two more eyes._]
ONE NIGHT-BIRD [_To the other._] The Great Bubo presides.
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Calling._] Owl of the Wall! Of the Belfry! Of the Cloister! Of the Yew! [_At every name two more eyes have opened wide._]
A NIGHT-BIRD [_To another just arriving._] The roll is called!
THE OTHER I know. All there is to do is to open our eyes.
THE SCREECH-OWL Asio! Nictea! Nyctalis! [_Three more pairs of eyes have opened._] Brachyotus! [_No eye opening at the name, he repeats._] Brachyotus!
ONE OF THE NIGHT-BIRDS He will be here directly. He stopped to eat a linnet.
BRACHYOTUS [_Arriving._] Present!
THE SCREECH-OWL Not one of them would miss, when the meeting relates to the Cock!
BRACHYOTUS Not one!
THE SCREECH-OWL Carine! [_Two eyes open._] Caparacoch! [_No eye opening, he repeats emphatically._] Ca-pa-ra-coch!--Well?--Well?
CAPARACOCH [_Arriving out of breath, opens his eyes, faltering an excuse. _] I live a long way off!
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Dryly._] You should have started the earlier! [_Looking around._] We are all present, I believe. [_Calling._] Flammeolus! And Flammeoline! [_All the eyes are now open._]
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Solemnly._] Before beginning, let us give, but not too loud, the cry which makes us all as one!
ALL Long live the Night!
_And in a weird, savage, hurried chorus, interspersed with hoots and flapping of wings, all talking together and rocking themselves in hideous glee._
THE GRAND-DUKE Praise the Night, discreet, propitious, When with wadded wing and muted O’er the sleeping world we fly, And the partridge in the bracken Ne’er suspects the hovering presence Till we pounce without a cry.
THE SCREECH-OWL Praise the Night, convenient, secret, When in slaughtering baby rabbits We can do it at our ease, Daub the grass with blood in comfort, Spare the pains to look like heroes, Be ourselves where no one sees!
AN OLD HORNED-OWL Praise the density of darkness!
A WOOD-OWL The intensity of stillness Letting crunching bones be heard!
A BARN-OWL Freshness pleasantly contrasting With the genial warmth of blood drops Spurting from a strangled bird!
THE WOOD-OWL Praise the black rock oozing terror!
THE SCREECH-OWL And the cross-roads where our screeches, Furrowing the startled air, Our demoniac yelling, hooting, Make the hardened unbeliever Cross himself and fall to prayer!
THE GRAND-DUKE Praise the snares of the great Weaver, Night, whose only fault or weakness Is her tolerance of stars!
THE SCREECH-OWL For spectators are not wanted At the work of plucking fledglings-- Be they Jupiter and Mars!
THE GRAND-DUKE Praise the Night, when we take vengeance On the goldfinch for his beauty, On the titmouse for his grace! When the darkness takes possession Let them tremble, those confiding Hostages of Day’s!
THE WOOD-OWL For there is a choice in murder!
THE GRAND-DUKE And the inkier the blackness All the clearer do we see To select the whitest pigeon In the dove-cote, and the bluest Blue jay on the shuddering tree!
THE BARN-OWL Praise the hour and taste and relish Of the eggs we suck, destroying Hopes of many a haughty line!
THE SCREECH-OWL And the councils where in whispers We prepare what shall resemble Accidents by every sign!
THE GRAND-DUKE Praise the shadow’s grim suggestions! The advantage over others We inherit through their fright!
THE SCREECH-OWL For our grisly cachinnations Give the very eagle goose-flesh--
ALL TOGETHER Praise our patroness, the Night!
THE GRAND-DUKE And now let the Screech-Owl in his russet robe take the floor.
SEVERAL VOICES Silence!
THE BLACKBIRD [_On his fagot._] What an awf’ly lovely evening party!
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Oratorically._] Brethren of the Night--
THE GRAND-DUKE [_To the_ OWL _next to him._] The meeting-place seems to me particularly well chosen. The blackest spot, the moldiest tree. To the right, old postherds. To the left, in the dark between the hollies--the view!
THE SCREECH-OWL Brethren of the Night!--
AN OWL There comes the Mole!
SEVERAL VOICES Silence!
THE OWL She must have taken, to come here, a route below the roots of the daisies--
THE BLACKBIRD The subway, what else?
THE GRAND-DUKE [_To his neighbor._] Is that the Blackbird?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Coming forward._] Yes, your Grace. And the two agate balls over there are the Cat.
THE GRAND-DUKE I can hear him licking his paws.
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Resuming._] Brethren of the Night! Inasmuch as everybody here--and we plume ourselves upon it!--is possessed of the evil eye--
ALL THE BIRDS [_Chuckling and rocking in their peculiarly disgusting and characteristic fashion._] Ha, ha!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Spreading his wings to demand silence._] Hush! [_All return to their appalling stillness._]
THE BLACKBIRD My eye is merely roguish. I am here to look on, you know, without taking sides,--in the artist spirit, that’s all.
AN OWL If you are not taking sides, then you are siding with us!
THE BLACKBIRD Oh, I say, what a primitive notion!
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Completing his sentence._] Let us express ourselves with simple and direct malevolence: the Cock is a robber!
ALL A robber! He robs us!
THE BLACKBIRD Now, what the--Robs you of what?
THE GRAND-DUKE Of health! Gladness!
THE BLACKBIRD How is that?
THE SCREECH-OWL By his crowing!
THE GRAND-DUKE His crowing brings on enlargement of the spleen and pericarditis! For it heralds--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Hopping about._] Oh, I see--The light!
[_All make a violent motion in his direction; the_ BLACKBIRD _frightened, hides among the fagots._]
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Emphatically._] Never speak that word! When that word is spoken, Night at the horizon feels a crawling discomfort, a titillation underneath her wing.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Cautiously correcting himself._] The brightness of--[_General start of dismay repeated; the_ BLACKBIRD _again dodges behind the fagots._]
AN OWL [_Hurriedly._] Never utter that horrible grating word, which so hatefully suggests the scratching of a match!
THE SCREECH-OWL You should express yourself: The Cock heralds the folding back of the pall--
THE BLACKBIRD But the day--[_Start and threatening gesture from all._]
ALL [_In voices of unspeakable anguish._] Not that word!
THE GRAND-DUKE You must refer to it as “that which will be!”
THE BLACKBIRD What difference does it make whether or not he heralds the--
ALL [_Stopping him._] Ha!
THE BLACKBIRD --the folding back of the pall, since that which will be--will be!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_In tones of despair._] Simple torture it is to hear a brazen throat forever reminding you of what you know to be only too true!
ALL [_Writhing in pain._] Too true! Too true!
THE GRAND-DUKE He begins while the night is still pleasant and cool--
CRIES ON ALL SIDES He is a robber, a thief!
THE GRAND-DUKE He cheats us!
ALL THE OWLS He cheats us! Cheats us!
THE GRAND-DUKE Of the good bit of night there still is left.
AN OWLET He compels us to leave our posts beside the warrens--
THE SCREECH-OWL Our feasts of steaming flesh!
THE WOOD-OWL The witches’ routs where we ride perched on the fist of a hag!
THE GRAND-DUKE After cock-crow an Owl is no longer in his normal state--
THE SCREECH-OWL He does evil in a hurry!
THE GRAND-DUKE And bungles it in consequence!
THE OLD HORNED-OWL As soon as the Cock has crowed all becomes temporary provisional--
THE BARN-OWL Though the Night be still black, we are painfully aware of it growing less and less black!
THE SCREECH-OWL When his metallic voice has cleft the night, we squirm like a worm in a fruit that is cut in two.
THE BLACKBIRD [_On his fagot, mystified._] The other Cocks, however--
THE GRAND-DUKE Their song creates no uneasiness. It is his song which must be silenced.
ALL THE NIGHT-BIRDS [_Flapping their wings, in a long lament._] Silenced! Silenced!
AN OWL How can it be accomplished?
THE SCREECH-OWL The Blackbird here has worked in our cause.
THE BLACKBIRD Who--I?
THE SCREECH-OWL Yes, you laughed at him.
ALL [_Cackling._] Ha, ha!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Spreading his wings._] Hush! [_They resume their sinister stillness._]
THE SCREECH-OWL But his song has not acted any the less directly on our gall-bladders for the fun that has been made of him. He has grown stronger than ever since he was found ridiculous.
ALL What shall we do?
THE SCREECH-OWL The Peacock, that great booby--
ALL [_Cackling and rocking._] Ha, ha!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Opening his wings._] Hush! [_All instantly motionless._]
THE SCREECH-OWL Through the Peacock, likewise working in our cause, the Cock came out of fashion. But his song is just as inconvenient, in fashion or out of it. He is all the more proudly uncompromising for no longer being in style.
ALL What shall we do?
AN OWL Cut his throat!
CRIES Death to the Cock!
AN OWL Death to that aristocrat posing as a democrat and socialist!
ANOTHER With spurs on his heels, but a liberty cap on his head!
THE GRAND-DUKE Night-birds all, arise!
[ALL, _arising with outspread wings and glaring eyes, increase enormously in size. The night appears doubly dark._]
THE BLACKBIRD [_With unabated lightness._] Midnight to the fore!
THE SCREECH-OWL Kill him! But how can we, when our eyes cease to see the moment he comes out?
ALL [_Wailing like an ancient chorus._] Woe!
THE OLD HORNED-OWL [_Craftily._] How kill--from afar?
THE GRAND-DUKE By means of what secret spring?
A VOICE [_From the tree._] Duke, may I lay a plan before the assembly?
THE GRAND-DUKE Scops! Let us hear!
ALL [_At sight of a small_ OWL _dropping from a bough, and coming forward with tiny hops._] Scops, dear little Scops!
SCOPS [_Bowing before the_ GRAND-DUKE.] You are aware, mighty Blind-by-day-and-seer-by-night, that in pleasant gardens up yonder hill a breeder of birds--termed aviculturist, raises for exhibitions--termed agricultural, the most magnificent Cocks of the most extraordinary varieties. Now, that great discoverer of rare birds, the Peacock, who, possessing a voice which pierces the ear-drum cannot abide a voice which pierces the darkness--the Peacock, whose specialty it is to confer celebrity upon every strange beast--
THE GRAND-DUKE [_To his neighbour._] From every strange region!
SCOPS Cherishes the dream of presenting these same Cocks to-morrow, in the kitchen garden, at the--
ALL TOGETHER [_Laughing._] Guinea-hen’s!
SCOPS And launching among her set these Birds whose glory will be the finishing blow to the glory of Chantecler.
THE BLACKBIRD Flatten him out like a pan cake!
THE SCREECH OWL But those Cocks are always locked in!
SCOPS I am coming to that. This evening, when a maid, having entered their wire-netted close, was scattering corn in a golden shower, I started up suddenly from the hollow of a pollard willow, and the girl--
AN OWL [_To his neighbour._] What a bright mind, our little Scops!
SCOPS At sight of the ill-omened bird--
ALL [_Cackling and rocking._] Ha, ha!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Spreading his wings._] Hush! [_All suddenly still._]
SCOPS Fled, with one arm across her eyes! The cage was left open, and the whole fantastic host will meet Chantecler to-morrow at the--
ALL [_With peals of laughter._] Guinea-hen’s!
THE BLACKBIRD He is not going. He has refused.
SCOPS The devil!
THE CAT [_Quietly._] Go on, Scops. He will be there.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Looking at him from a distance._] What do you know about it, pocket panther?
THE CAT I saw a Pheasant-hen exciting his admiration, and I saw that he would go.
THE BLACKBIRD It’s when you’re sound asleep that you see everything!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_To_ SCOPS.] Very well, then, let us suppose him going.
SCOPS Chantecler, for all his fame, has retained his bluff country squire’s frankness. When he sees this--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Prompting._] Tea-fight--
SCOPS And the contortions of those--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Same business._] Snobs--
SCOPS In the presence of those--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Same business._] Big guns--
SCOPS He is sure to say things which they are equally sure to take up.
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Thrilled._] And do you believe that a cock-fight--?
SCOPS Such is my fond hope.
THE CAT But listen, Scops. Suppose Chantecler should win?
SCOPS Know, Angora, that there will be among those fancy cocks a genuine game-cock, lean, with tawny wing, the same who--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Seeing the_ OWLS _puff out their feathers for joy._] Sensation among the audience!
SCOPS The same who has defeated the most famous champions--the White Pile. And as this victor in Flemish and English encounters wears at his heels, for the defter dispatching of his enemy, two razors fastened there by the ingenuity of man, by tomorrow night Chantecler will be dead, and his eyes picked out of their sockets.
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Enthusiastically._] We will go and gloat over his corpse!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Risen to his full height, formidable._] And his comb, which looked above his forehead like an incarnate bit of scarlet dawn, we will take his comb,--our dearest dream at length fulfilled!--and we will eat it!
ALL [_With a yell, which ends in their ferocious cackling and rocking._] And we will eat it,--eat it, ha, ha!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Spreading his wings._] Hush! [_Dead silence._]
SCOPS And after that--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Hopping._] It’s quite a tidy proposition as it stands--
SCOPS What?
THE BLACKBIRD Your scheme! By Jingo, if I were the sort of bird to take things solemnly, I would go straight to the Cock and tell him. But I will do nothing of the sort. [_He concludes, with four little hops._] For I know--that all this--will turn out--beautifully!
SCOPS [_Ironically._] Beautifully indeed! [_He continues in growing excitement._] And after that, if those absurd Cocks of far-fetched breeds have not by to-morrow evening gone back to their cages, we will eat them all, no longer good for anything!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_In his neighbour’s ear._] And after that we will eat the Blackbird for dessert.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Who has not caught the last sentence._] What did he say?
SCOPS [_Quickly._] Nothing! [_In a still increasing frenzy of glee._] And after that--
[_In the distance: Cock-a-doodle-doo! Instant silence. _SCOPS_ stops short and collapses, as if mown down. All the puffed _OWLS_ appear suddenly to have grown thin._]
ALL [_Looking at one another and blinking._] What is it? What was that? [_They hastily spread their wings and call to one another for flight._] Grand-Duke! Minor! Minimus!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Hopping from one to the other._] Going? So soon? Why, what’s your hurry?
VOICE [_Of one of the_ NIGHT-BIRDS _calling to another._] Nyctalis!
THE BLACKBIRD It’s hours before daybreak. Oceans of time, you have!
AN OWL Asio, are you coming?
ANOTHER OWL [_Calling._] Nictea!
ANOTHER [_Fluttering up to him._] Yes, my dear! [_They all stagger and trip over their wings._]
THE BLACKBIRD What makes them stumble?
THE NIGHT-BIRDS [_Winking and blinking with marked evidences of pain._] Oh, how it hurts! Ow! Ow!
THE BLACKBIRD Lightning opthalmia, I declare! [_One by one the_ OWLS _fly off._]
THE GRAND-DUKE [_The last to go, spins on himself with a cry of pain and rage._] How does he contrive, that pernicious Cock, to have a voice that fairly puts out your eyes! [_He heavily flaps off._]
VOICES OF THE NIGHT-BIRDS [_In the distance._] Strix!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Looking after them among the branches, and later in the blue space over the valley._] They are calling one another!
VOICE IN THE DISTANCE Scops!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Bending over the valley, where the dark wings are dwindling and fading._] They wheel--waver--dip--
VOICES [_Dying in the distance._] Owl of the Wall! Of the Belfry! Of the Yew!
THE BLACKBIRD Gone! [_He looks about, gives a hop, and with an immediate return to levity._] But it’s supper-time.--Now for a bite of cold grasshopper! [_The_ PHEASANT-HEN _suddenly flies over the brushwood tangle, dropping beside him._] You!
SCENE SECOND
THE BLACKBIRD, THE PHEASANT-HEN, _later_ CHANTECLER
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Panting, tragically earnest._] I ran all the way.--You were there.--Oh, I am half dead with terror!--Well you must have overheard their dreadful secret! You, his friend!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Cheerfully rummaging among the moss._] Or the thigh of a katydid will do.
THE PHEASANT-HEN I was watching from a distance. I crouched in a ditch--[_In an anguished voice._] Well?
THE BLACKBIRD [_In genuine surprise._] Well, what?
THE PHEASANT-HEN Their conspiracy--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Calmly._] It all went off very nicely.
THE PHEASANT-HEN What do you mean?
THE BLACKBIRD The shadow was a correct and appropriate blue, and the Owls said perfectly characteristic things.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In wild alarm._] Heavens, they plotted his death?
THE BLACKBIRD His decease, which is not nearly so bad.
THE PHEASANT-HEN But--
THE BLACKBIRD Don’t smite your brow! In spite of the Screech-Owl’s grave and self-important tone, I shouldn’t wonder if it all amounted to very little.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Those Owls--
THE BLACKBIRD Are good enough in their various parts, but it’s the old excessive style of acting.
THE PHEASANT-HEN I beg your pardon?
THE BLACKBIRD Back numbers!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Oh?
THE BLACKBIRD They have eyelashes, fancy, all the way round their eyes! It’s too much of a good thing, really.--And that black plot, those desperately dark designs, all that belongs to the year one; you can see moss growing on its back!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Fluttering hither and thither feverishly._] I am never quite sure of understanding when a person is talking in fun.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Winking at her._] No flies on your acting!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Surely you wouldn’t be laughing if he were in danger? Those ruffians--?
THE BLACKBIRD Prattlers! Wooden Swords! Knights of Hot Air!
THE PHEASANT-HEN But Scops--?
THE BLACKBIRD A stuffed Owl!
THE PHEASANT-HEN And the Great Bubo--?
THE BLACKBIRD Just two ten-candle-power lamps, to be turned on and off with a switch,--crick-crack! And Flammeolus, two lamps likewise--but acetylene!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Bewildered by his imagery._] And so--?
THE BLACKBIRD No, trembling Gypsy, there’s not enough in this great plot to choke a flea withal!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Truly? I have been so horribly afraid--
THE BLACKBIRD Fear, I warn you, lovely Zingara, leads to dyspepsia! It’s because he keeps his eye closed and buried in the sand that the ostrich has preserved his famous digestion!
THE PHEASANT-HEN So it might seem.
THE BLACKBIRD We have in these latter days bowed Tragedy respectfully out of the house!
THE PHEASANT-HEN But had we not best warn Chantecler, so that--
THE BLACKBIRD He would go instantly and challenge them. And then such a whetting of steel!
THE PHEASANT-HEN You are right. So he would.
THE BLACKBIRD On your principle, mad Gitana, an oak-gall could be made into a world.
THE PHEASANT-HEN You have much good sense.
THE BLACKBIRD Daughter of the forest, I have.
CHANTECLER’S VOICE [_Outside._] Coa--
THE PHEASANT-HEN Chantecler!
CHANTECLER [_Approaching on the left, between the hollies, calls from afar._] Who is there?
THE PHEASANT-HEN It is I!
CHANTECLER [_Still from a distance._] Alone?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_With a significant look at the_ BLACKBIRD.] Yes, alone.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Understanding._] I vanish--I am off to supper.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Low to the_ BLACKBIRD.] And so--?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Motioning her to be silent._] Keep it dark! [_As he is leaving, by the right, in the manner of one giving an order to a waiter._] Earwigs for one!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Low._] It is wiser, you think, not to tell him?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Before disappearing among the flower-pots._] Well, rather!
SCENE THIRD
THE PHEASANT-HEN, CHANTECLER.
CHANTECLER [_Who has reached the_ PHEASANT-HEN’S _side._] Out so early?
THE PHEASANT-HEN To see the daybreak.
CHANTECLER [_With repressed emotion._] Ah--?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Teasingly._] What troubles you?
CHANTECLER I have had a wretched night.
THE PHEASANT-HEN So sorry! [_A pause._]
CHANTECLER Are you going to the Guinea-hen’s?
THE PHEASANT-HEN I stayed over solely for that purpose.
CHANTECLER Ah, yes, I know. [_A pause._] I dislike her extremely.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Come to her party.
CHANTECLER No.
THE PHEASANT-HEN As you please. Then we may as well say good-bye.
CHANTECLER No.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Come to the Guinea-hen’s. We shall have a chance to see something of each other there.
CHANTECLER No.
THE PHEASANT-HEN You are determined not to come?
CHANTECLER I am coming--but I hate it.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Why?
CHANTECLER It is weak.
THE PHEASANT-HEN No, no! That is no great sign of weakness!
CHANTECLER Ah--?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Softly, coming closer to him._] What would be showing a sweet, delightful, and fully masculine weakness--
CHANTECLER [_In alarm at her approach._] What?
THE PHEASANT-HEN Would be to tell me your secret. Oh, just a wee bit!
CHANTECLER [_With a start._] The secret of my song?