I, who have lov'd and honor'd you so long:
Stay, gentle sir, nor take a false alarm,
For on my soul I never meant you harm.
I come no spy, nor as a traitor press,
To learn the secrets of your soft recess
Far be from Reynard so profane a thought
But by the sweetness of your voice was
brought:

600

For, as I bid my beads, by chance I heard The song as of an angel in the yard;

A song that would have charm'd th' infernal gods,

And banish'd horror from the dark abodes: Had Orpheus sung it in the nether sphere, So much the hymn had pleas'd the tyrant's ear,

The wife had been detain'd, to keep the husband there.

"My lord, your sire familiarly I knew, A peer deserving such a son as you: He, with your lady mother, (whom Heav'n rest,)

610

Nor Pindar's heav'nly lyre, nor Horace when a swan.

Your ancestors proceed from race divine: From Brennus and Belinus is your line; Who gave to sov'reign Rome such loud alarms,

That ev'n the priests were not excus'd from

arms.

"Besides, a famous monk of modern times Has left of cocks recorded in his rhymes, 640 That of a parish priest the son and heir, (When sons of priests were from the proverb clear,)

Affronted once a cock of noble kind, And either lam'd his legs or struck him blind;

For which the clerk his father was disgrac'd, And in his benefice another plac'd.

Now sing, my lord, if not for love of me, Yet for the sake of sweet Saint Charity; Make hills, and dales, and earth, and heav'n rejoice,

And emulate your father's angel voice." 650 The cock was pleas'd to hear him speak so fair,

And proud beside, as solar people are;
Nor could the treason from the truth descry,
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' sickly, slender, and not large of limb,
Concluding all the world was made for him.

6/0

Ye princes, rais'd by poets to the gods, And Alexander'd up in lying odes, Believe not ev'ry flatt'ring knave's report, There's many a Reynard lurking in the

Who, true to love, was all for recreation, And minded not the work of propagation. Gaufride, who couldst so well in rhyme complain

The death of Richard with an arrow slain, Why had not I thy Muse, or thou my heart, To sing this heavy dirge with equal art! That I like thee on Friday might complain; For on that day was Cœur de Lion slain.

Not louder cries, when Ilium was in flames,

Were sent to heav'n by woful Trojan dames,

When Pyrrhus toss'd on high his

nish'd blade,

bur

And offer'd Priam to his father's shade, Than for the cock the widow'd poultry made.

700

This woful cackling cry with horror heard, Of those distracted damsels in the yard; And starting up, beheld the heavy sight, 720 How Reynard to the forest took his flight, And cross his back, as in triumphant scorn, The hope and pillar of the house was borne. "The fox, the wicked fox," was all the

cry;

Out from his house ran ev'ry neighbor nigh: The vicar first, and after him the crew, With forks and staves the felon to pursue. Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot with the band,

730

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 dismay, With shrieks augment the terror of the day. The ducks, that heard the proclamation cried,

And fear'd a persecution might betide,
Full twenty mile from town their voyage
take,

Obscure in rushes of the liquid lake.
The geese fly o'er the barn; the bees in

770

And to the neighb'ring maple wing'd his flight.

Whom when the traitor safe on tree beheld,

He curs'd the gods, with shame and sorrow fill'd;

Shame for his folly, sorrow out of time, For plotting an unprofitable crime: Yet mast'ring both, th' artificer of lies Renews th' assault, and his last batt'ry tries. "Tho' I," said he, "did ne'er in thought offend,

How justly may my lord suspect his friend? Th' appearance is against me, I confess, 780 Who seemingly have put you in distress: You, if your goodness does not plead my

cause,

May think I broke all hospitable laws,
To bear you from your palace yard by
might,

And put your noble person in a fright.
This, since you take it ill, I must repent,
Tho', Heav'n can witness, with no bad intent
I practic'd it, to make you taste your cheer
With double pleasure, first prepar'd by
fear.

So loyal subjects often seize their prince,
Forc'd (for his good) to seeming violence,
Yet mean his sacred person not the least

offense.

789

Descend; so help me Jove, as you shall find That Reynard comes of no dissembling kind."

"Nay," quoth the cock, "but I beshrew
us both,

If I believe a saint upon his oath:
An honest man may take a knave's advice,
Once warn'd is well bewar'd; no flatt'ring]
But idiots only will be cozen'd twice.
lies

Shall soothe me more to sing with winking eyes,

800

And open mouth, for fear of catching flies. Who blindfold walks upon a river's brim, When he should see, has he deserv'd to swim ?"

"Better, sir cock, let all contention cease; Come down," said Reynard, "let us treat of peace."

"A peace with all my soul," said Chanticleer,

"But, with your favor, I will treat it here; And, lest the truce with treason should be mix'd,

'Tis my concern to have the tree betwixt."

THE MORAL

In this plain fable you th' effect may see 810
Of negligence and fond credulity;
And learn besides of flatt'rers to beware,
Then most pernicious when they speak too
fair.

The cock and fox the fool and knave imply;
The truth is moral, tho' the tale a lie.
Who spoke in parables, I dare not say;
But sure he knew it was a pleasing way,
Sound sense, by plain example, to convey.
And in a heathen author we may find,
That pleasure with instruction should be
join'd;

820

So take the corn, and leave the chaff behind.

This noble youth to madness lov'd a dame,

Of high degree; Honoria was her name; 10 Fair as the fairest, but of haughty mind, And fiercer than became so soft a kind; Proud of her birth, (for equal she had none,)

The rest she scorn'd, but hated him alone. His gifts, his constant courtship, nothing gain'd;

For she, the more he lov'd, the more disdain'd.

He liv'd with all the pomp he could devise,

At tilts and turnaments obtain'd the