You know not when you are safe from him."
There stood by, some of the bristly tribe,
Who felt so touched by the peeper's gibe,
Their backs were up; for they thought, at least,
It aimed at them the
low, mean beast:
And they challenged Chick to her tiny face,
In their sharp, high notes, and their awful base.
Then old Chanticleer to his mount withdrew,
And gave from his rostrum a loud halloo.