So fweetly wou'd 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 fing with greater strength,
And stretch'd his comely neck at all the length:
And while he strain'd his voice to pierce the skies,
As faints in raptures ufe, would shut his eyes,
That the found ftriving thro the narrow throat,
His winking might avail to mend the note.
By this, in fong, he never had his peer,
From fweet Cecilia down to Chanticleer ;
Not Maro's muse, who fung the mighty man,
Nor Pindar's heav'nly lyre, nor Horace when a fwan.
Your ancestors proceed from race divine:
From Brennus and Belinus is your line;
Who gave to fov'reign Rome fuch loud alarms,
That ev'n the priests were not excus'd from arms,
Befides, a famous monk of modern times
Has left of cocks recorded in his rhimes,
That of a parish prieft the fon and heir,
(When fons of priests were from the proverb clear)
Affronted once a cock of noble kind,
And either lam'd his legs, or ftruck him blind;
For which the clerk his father was difgrac'd,
And in his benefice another plac'd.
Now fing, my lord, if not for love of me,
Yet for the fake of fweet faint charity;
Make hills, and dales, and earth and heav'n rejoice,
And emulate your father's angel voice.
The cock was pleas'd to hear him speak fo fair,
And proud befide, as folar people are ;
Nor cou'd the treafon from the truth defcry,
So was he ravish'd with this flattery:
So much the more, as from a little elf,
He had a high opinion of himself;
Tho fickly, flender, and not large of limb,
Concluding all the world was made for him.
Ye princes rais'd by poets to the Gods,
And Alexander'd up in lying odes,
Believe not ev'ry flattering knave's report,
There's many a Reynard lurking in the court;
And he shall be receiv'd with more regard
And liften'd to, than modeft truth is heard,
This Chanticleer, of whom the story sings, Stood high upon his toes, and clapp'd his wings;
Then stretch'd his neck, and wink'd with both
Ambitious, as he fought th' Olympic prize.
But while he pain'd himself to raise his note,
False Reynard rush'd, and caught him by the throat.
Then on his back he laid the precious load,
And fought his wonted shelter of the wood;
Swiftly he made his way, the mischief done,
Of all unheeded, and purfu'd by none.
Alas, what stay is there in human state,
Or who can fhun inevitable fate?
The doom was written, the decree was past,
Ere the foundations of the world were caft!
In Aries though the fun exalted stood,
His patron-planet to procure his good;
Yet Saturn was his mortal foe, and he,
In Libra rais'd, oppos'd the fame degree :
The rays both good and bad, of equal pow'r,
Each thwarting other made a mingled hour.
On friday-morn he dreamt this direful dream,
Crofs to the worthy native, in his scheme!
Ah blissful Venus, Goddess of delight,
How cou'dft thou fuffer thy devoted knight,
On thy own day to fall by foe opprefs'd,
The wight of all the world who ferv'd thee best?
Who true to love, was all for recreation,
And minded not the work of propagation.
Gaufride, who cou'dft fo well in rhime complain
The death of Richard with an arrow flain,
Why had not I thy mufe, or thou my heart,
To fing this heavy dirge with equal art!
That I like thee on Friday might complain;
For on that day was Cœur de Lion flain.
Not louder cries, when Ilium was in flames, Were fent to heav'n by woful Trojan dames, When Pyrrhus tofs'd on high his burnifh'd blade, And offer'd Priam to his father's fhade,
Than for the cock the widow'd poultry made.
Fair Partlet first, when he was born from fight,
With fovereign fhrieks bewail'd her captive knight:
Far louder than the Carthaginian wife,
When Afdrubal her husband loft his life,
When she beheld the fmouldring flames afcend, ́
And all the Punic glories at an end:
Willing into the fires the plung'd her head,
With greater ease than others feek their bed.
Not more aghaft the matrons of renown,
When tyrant Nero burn'd th' imperial town,
Shriek'd for the downfal in a doleful cry,
For which their guiltless lords were doom'd to die,
Now to my ftory I return again:
The trembling widow, and her daughters twain,
This woful cackling cry with horror heard,
Of those distracted damfels in the yard;
And starting up beheld the heavy fight,
How Reynard to the forest took his flight,
And cross his back, as in triumphant scorn,
The hope and pillar of the house was born.
The fox, the wicked fox, was all the cry
Out from his house ran ev'ry neighbor nigh:
The vicar firft, and after him the crew,
With forks and staves the felon to pursue.
Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot with the band,
And Malkin, with her distaff in her hand:
Ran cow and calf, and family of hogs,
In panic horror of pursuing dogs;
With many a deadly grunt and doleful squeak,
Poor swine, as if their pretty hearts would break.
The shouts of men, the women in difmay,
With fhrieks augment the terror of the day.
The ducks that heard the proclamation cry'd,
And fear'd a perfecution might betide,
Full twenty mile from town their voyage take,
Obfcure in rushes of the liquid lake.
The geefe fly o'er the barn; the bees in arms
Drive headlong from their waxen cells in fwarms.
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