Chantecler
I am practising, or else promising the ploughshare, the hoe, the harrow, the scythe, not to neglect my duty of waking them.
The Pheasant-hen
But what wakens you?
Chantecler
The fear of forgetting.
The Pheasant-hen
And you believe that at the sound of your voice the whole world is suffused—?
Chantecler
I have no clear idea of the whole world. But I sing for my own valley, and desire that every Cock may do the same for his.
The Pheasant-hen
Still—
Chantecler
But here I stand, explaining, perorating, and forgetting altogether to make my dawn.
The Pheasant-hen
His dawn!
Chantecler
Ah, what I say sounds mad? I will make the dawn before your very eyes! And the wish to please you adding its ardour to the ordinary forces of my soul, I shall rise in singing, as I feel, to unusual heights, and the dawn will rise more fair to-day than ever it rose before!
The Pheasant-hen
More fair?