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And now, my little listening dears
mouths and open ears,
know I must not fail, What became of all the parties.
Pierre went on to Compostella
To finish his pilgrimage, His parents went back with him joyfully, After which they returned to their own country ; And there, I believe, that all the three
Lived to a good old age.
For the gallows on which Pierre
So happily had swung,
On it should man be hung.
To the Church it was transplanted,
As ancient books declare :
What became of the halter I know not,
Because the old books show not;
For in his family, and this
The Corporation knew,
The Innkeeper's wicked daughter
Confess'd what she had done,
The Alcayde had been so frighten'd
That he never ate fowls again ;
Wherever he sat at table
Not an egg might there be placed ; And he never even muster'd courage for a custard,
Though garlic tempted him to taste
Of an omelet now and then.
But always after such a transgression
And not till he had confess'd,
His conscience and stomach at rest.
The twice-born Birds to the Pilgrim's Church,
As by miracle consecrated,
They were publicly dedicated.
At their dedication the Corporation
A fund for their keep supplied ; And after following the Saint and his banners, This Cock and Hen were so changed in their manners,
That the Priests were edified.
Gentle as any.
Most dutiful of wives,
So they led happy lives.
The ways of ordinary fowls
Had their example taken,
No eggs to eat with bacon.
These blessed Fowls, at seven years end,
In the odour of sanctity died ;
They were buried, side by side.
And lest the fact should be forgotten,
(Which would have been a pity,) ’T was decreed, in honour of their worth, That a Cock and Hen should be borne thenceforth
In the arms of that ancient City.
Saint Hen had laid, no more;
A Cock and Hen they proved,
The last act of the Holy Hen
Saint Cock and she were dead,
Succeeded in their stead.
They also lived seven years,
And they laid eggs but two,
And always their posterity
Not one of these eggs ever addled,
(With wonder be it spoken!) Not one of them ever was lost, Not one of them ever was broken.
Sacred they are; neither magpie, nor rat, Snake, weasel, nor marten approaching them :
And woe to the irreverent wretch Who should even dream of poaching them !
Thus then is this great miracle
Continued to this day;
When they are on the way ;
For which they always pay.
No price is set upon them,
But that the more they give the better,
Is very well understood;
Is for their own souls' good;
For Santiago will always
Befriend his true believers ;
Being only his receivers.