He made us to his image, all agree; That image is the soul, and that must be, Or not, the Maker's image, or be free.

But whether it were better man had been By nature bound to good, not free to sin, 550 I waive, for fear of splitting on a rock, The tale I tell is only of a c.o.c.k; Who had not run the hazard of his life, Had he believed his dream, and not his wife: For women, with a mischief to their kind, Pervert with bad advice our better mind.

A woman's counsel brought us first to woe, And made her man his paradise forego, Where at heart's ease he lived; and might have been As free from sorrow as he was from sin. 560 For what the devil had their s.e.x to do, That, born to folly, they presumed to know, And could not see the serpent in the gra.s.s?

But I myself presume, and let it pa.s.s.

Silence in times of suffering is the best, 'Tis dangerous to disturb an hornet's nest.

In other authors you may find enough, But all they say of dames is idle stuff: 568 Legends of lying wits together bound, The Wife of Bath would throw them to the ground; These are the words of Chanticleer, not mine; I honour dames, and think their s.e.x divine.

Now to continue what my tale begun: Lay Madam Partlet basking in the sun, Breast-high in sand: her sisters in a row Enjoy'd the beams above, the warmth below; The c.o.c.k, that of his flesh was ever free, Sung merrier than the mermaid in the sea: And so befell, that as he cast his eye Among the coleworts on a b.u.t.terfly, 580 He saw false Reynard where he lay full low: I need not swear he had no list to crow: But cried _c.o.c.k, c.o.c.k_, and gave a sudden start, As sore dismay'd, and frighted at his heart: For birds and beasts, inform'd by nature, know Kinds opposite to theirs, and fly their foe; So Chanticleer, who never saw a fox, Yet shunn'd him as a sailor shuns the rocks.

But the false loon, who could not work his will But open force, employ'd his flattering skill; 590 I hope, my lord, said he, I not offend; Are you afraid of me, that am your friend?

I were a beast indeed to do you wrong, I, who have loved and honour'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 the infernal G.o.ds, And banish'd horror from the dark abodes: Had Orpheus sung it in the nether sphere, So much the hymn had pleased 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 Heaven rest!) 610 Has often graced my house, and been my guest; To view his living features does me good, For I am your poor neighbour in the wood; And in my cottage should be proud to see The worthy heir of my friend's family.

But since I speak of singing, let me say, As with an upright heart I safely may, That, save yourself, there breathes not on the ground One like your father for a silver sound.

So sweetly would he wake the winter day, 620 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 sing 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 saints in raptures use, would shut his eyes, That the sound striving through the narrow throat, His winking might avail to mend the note, 630 By this, in song, he never had his peer, From sweet Cecilia down to Chanticleer; Nor Maro's muse, who sung the mighty Man, Nor Pindar's heavenly lyre, nor Horace when a swan.

Your ancestors proceed from race divine: From Brennus and Belinus is your line; Who gave to sovereign Rome such loud alarms, That even the priests were not excused from arms.

Besides, a famous monk of modern times Has left of c.o.c.ks 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 c.o.c.k of n.o.ble kind, And either lamed his legs, or struck him blind; For which the clerk his father was disgraced, And in his benefice another placed.

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 heaven rejoice, And emulate your father's angel-voice. 650

The c.o.c.k was pleased 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; Though sickly, slender, and not large of limb, Concluding all the world was made for him.

Ye princes, raised by poets to the G.o.ds, And Alexander'd[72] up in lying odes! 660 Believe not every flattering knave's report, There's many a Reynard lurking in the court; And he shall be received with more regard, And listen'd to, than modest 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 his eyes, Ambitious as he sought the Olympic prize.

But while he pain'd himself to raise his note, False Renyard rush'd and caught him by the throat. 670 Then on his back he laid the precious load, And sought his wonted shelter of the wood; Swiftly he made his way the mischief done, Of all unheeded, and pursued by none.

Alas, what stay is there in human state!

Or who can shun inevitable fate?

The doom was written, the decree was pa.s.s'd, Ere the foundations of the world were cast!

In Aries though the sun exalted stood, His patron-planet, to procure his good; 680 Yet Saturn was his mortal foe, and he, In Libra raised, opposed the same degree: The rays both good and bad, of equal power, Each thwarting other, made a mingled hour.

On Friday morn he dreamt this direful dream, Cross to the worthy native, in his scheme!

Ah, blissful Venus, G.o.ddess of delight!

How couldst thou suffer thy devoted knight On thy own day to fall by foe oppress'd, The wight of all the world who served thee best? 690 Who, true to love, was all for recreation, And minded not the work of propagation.

Ganfride,[73] 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 Coeur de Lion slain.

Not louder cries, when Ilium was in flames, Were sent to Heaven by woful Trojan dames, 700 When Pyrrhus toss'd on high his burnish'd blade, And offer'd Priam to his father's shade, Than for the c.o.c.k the widow'd poultry made.

Fair Partlet first, when he was borne from sight, With sovereign shrieks bewail'd her captive knight: Far louder than the Carthaginian wife, When Asdrubal, her husband, lost his life; When she beheld the smouldering flames ascend, And all the Punic glories at an end: Willing into the fires she plunged her head, 710 With greater ease than others seek their bed.

Not more aghast the matrons of renown, When tyrant Nero burn'd the imperial town, Shriek'd for the downfall in a doleful cry, For which their guiltless lords were doom'd to die.

Now to my story I return again: The trembling widow, and her daughters twain, 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 every neighbour 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, And Malkin, with her distaff in her hand: Ran cow and calf, and family of hogs, 730 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 miles from town their voyage take, Obscure in rushes of the liquid lake.

The geese fly o'er the barn; the bees in arms 740 Drive headlong from their waxen cells in swarms.

Jack Straw at London-stone, with all his rout, Struck not the city with so loud a shout; Not when, with English hate, they did pursue A Frenchman, or an unbelieving Jew: Not when the welkin rung with 'one and all;'

And echoes bounded back from Fox's hall: Earth seem'd to sink beneath, and heaven above to fall.

With might and main they chased the murderous fox, With brazen trumpets, and inflated box, 750 To kindle Mars with military sounds, Nor wanted horns to inspire sagacious hounds.

But see how Fortune can confound the wise, And when they least expect it, turn the dice!

The captive-c.o.c.k, who scarce could draw his breath, And lay within the very jaws of death; Yet in this agony his fancy wrought, And fear supplied him with this happy thought:

Yours is the prize, victorious prince! said he, The vicar my defeat, and all the village see. 760 Enjoy your friendly fortune while you may, And bid the churls that envy you the prey Call back their mongrel curs, and cease their cry, See, fools, the shelter of the wood is nigh, And Chanticleer in your despite shall die, He shall be pluck'd and eaten to the bone.

'Tis well advised, in faith it shall be done; This Reynard said: but as the word he spoke, The prisoner with a spring from prison broke; Then stretch'd his feather'd fans with all his might, 770 And to the neighbouring maple wing'd his flight; Whom, when the traitor safe on tree beheld, He cursed the G.o.ds, with shame and sorrow fill'd: Shame for his folly, sorrow out of time, For plotting an unprofitable crime; Yet mastering both, the artificer of lies Renews the a.s.sault, and his last battery tries.

Though I, said he, did ne'er in thought offend, How justly may my lord suspect his friend?

The 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 n.o.ble person in a fright: This, since you take it ill, I must repent, Though, Heaven can witness, with no bad intent: I practised it, to make you taste your cheer With double pleasure, first prepared by fear.

So loyal subjects often seize their prince, 790 Forced (for his good) to seeming violence, Yet mean his sacred person not the least offence.

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

Nay, quoth the c.o.c.k, but I beshrew us both, If I believe a saint upon his oath: An honest man may take a knave's advice, But idiots only may be cozen'd twice: Once warn'd is well bewared; no nattering 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 deserved to swim?

Better, Sir c.o.c.k, let all contention cease, Come down, said Reynard, let us treat of peace.

A peace with all my soul, said Chanticleer; But, with your favour, 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 the effect may see 810 Of negligence, and fond credulity: And learn besides of flatterers to beware, Then most pernicious when they speak too fair.

The c.o.c.k and fox, the fool and knave imply; The truth is moral, though 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 72: 'Alexander'd': an allusion to his famous ode.]

[Footnote 73: 'Ganfride': a mediaeval ballad-monger.]

THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF:

OR, THE LADY IN THE ARBOUR.[74]

A VISION.

Now turning from the wintry signs, the sun, His course exalted, through the Ram had run, And whirling up the skies, his chariot drove Through Taurus, and the lightsome realms of love; Where Venus from her orb descends in showers, To glad the ground, and paint the fields with flowers: When first the tender blades of gra.s.s appear, And buds, that yet the blast of Eurus fear, Stand at the door of life, and doubt to clothe the year: Till gentle heat, and soft repeated rains, 10 Make the green blood to dance within their veins: Then, at their call, embolden'd out they come, And swell the gems, and burst the narrow room; Broader and broader yet, their blooms display, Salute the welcome sun, and entertain the day.