Chantecler
No, I will stay here.
The Pheasant-hen
After finding them out?
Chantecler
After finding them out.
The Pheasant-hen
You will stay here?
Chantecler
Not for their sakes, but the sake of my song. It might spring forth less clear from any other soil! But now, to inform the Day that it is sure to be called tomorrow I will sing! [Obsequious movement of the crowd, attempting to approach.] Back! All of you! I have nothing left but my song! [All draw away, and alone in his pride, he begins.] Co—[To himself, stiffening himself against pain.] Nothing left but my song, therefore let us sing well! [He tries again.] Co—Now, I wonder, shall I take it as a chest-note, or—Co—a head-note? Shall I count one-three, or—Co—And the accent? Since they filled my head with all that sort of thing, I Coocooroo—Keekee-ree—And the theory? The dynamic theory? Cock-a—I am all tangled up in schools and rules and rubbish! If he reduced his flight to a theory, what eagle would ever soar? Co—[Trying again, and ending in a raucous, abortive crow.] Co—I cannot sing any more, I whose method was not to know how, but be quite certain why! [In a cry, of despair.] I have nothing left! They have taken everything from me, my song and everything else. How shall I get it back?
The Pheasant-hen
[Opening her wings.] Come away to the woods!
Chantecler
[Falling upon her breast.] I love you!
The Pheasant-hen
To the woods, where the simple birds sing their sweet unconscious songs!
Chantecler
Let us go! [Both go toward the back. Chantecler turning.] But there is one thing I wish to say—
The Pheasant-hen
[Trying to lead him away.] Come to the woods!