_] Do I sing? Yes, but
far away from here, at the water-side.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh!
CHANTECLER
[_With a tinge of bitterness._] Golden Pheasants will not long allow one
to purchase glory by too strenuous an effort, and so I go off by myself,
and work at the Dawn in secret.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Approaching from behind with threatening countenance._] Oh!
CHANTECLER
As soon as the beauteous eye which enthralls me--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Pausing._] Oh!
CHANTECLER
--closes, and in her surpassing loveliness she sleeps--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Delighted._] Ah!
CHANTECLER
I make my escape.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Furious._] Oh!
CHANTECLER
I speed through the dew to a distant place, to sing there the necessary
number of times, and when I feel the darkness wavering, when only one
song more is needed, I return and noiselessly getting back to roost,
wake the Pheasant-hen by singing it at her side.--Betrayed by the dew?
Oh, no! [_Laughing._] For with a whisk of my wing I brush my feet clear
of the tell-tale silveriness!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Close behind him._] You brush your--?
CHANTECLER
[_Turning._] Ouch! [_Into the convolvulus._] No nothing! I--Later!--Ouch!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Violently._] So! So! Not only you keep up an interest in the fidelity
of your old flames--
CHANTECLER
[_Evasively._] Oh!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
You furthermore--
CHANTECLER
I--
THE BEE
[_Inside the morning-glory.
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