_] Chantecler!
It is we! The Pheasant-hen! The Dog! Speak to us, speak!
CHANTECLER
[_Opening his eyes, looks at them and says gently._] The day will rise
to-morrow!
SCENE SIXTH
THE SAME, _except the_ WHITE PILE
THE CROWD
[_After seeing the_ WHITE PILE _off, return tumultuously to_ CHANTECLER,
_hailing him with acclamations._] Hurrah!
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.
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