Chantecler
[While parrying and attacking.] The crowing of other Cocks, able neither to make nor mar, is no better nor worse than sonorous sneezing! Mine—[He is wounded.]
A Voice
Biff! In the neck!
Chantecler
—mine makes—[He is again wounded.]
The Turkey
Insufferable self-sufficiency!
Chantecler
—the light—[Again he is struck.]
A Voice
Biff! On the neb!
Chantecler
—the light appear!
A Voice
Biff! In the eye!
Chantecler
[Blinded with blood.] Yes, the light!
A Voice
[Sneering.] Better have let sleeping darkness lie!