Scops
He is sure to say things which they are equally sure to take up.
The Grand-duke
[Thrilled.] And do you believe that a cock-fight—?
Scops
Such is my fond hope.
The Cat
But listen, Scops. Suppose Chantecler should win?
Scops
Know, Angora, that there will be among those fancy cocks a genuine game-cock, lean, with tawny wing, the same who—
The Blackbird
[Seeing the Owls puff out their feathers for joy.] Sensation among the audience!
Scops
The same who has defeated the most famous champions—the White Pile. And as this victor in Flemish and English encounters wears at his heels, for the defter dispatching of his enemy, two razors fastened there by the ingenuity of man, by tomorrow night Chantecler will be dead, and his eyes picked out of their sockets.
The Screech-owl
[Enthusiastically.] We will go and gloat over his corpse!
The Grand-duke
[Risen to his full height, formidable.] And his comb, which looked above his forehead like an incarnate bit of scarlet dawn, we will take his comb,—our dearest dream at length fulfilled!—and we will eat it!
All
[With a yell, which ends in their ferocious cackling and rocking.] And we will eat it,—eat it, ha, ha!