But I have won the game where you were routed.
Seen from the clouds, full many a wayside grain
Of truth seems empty chaff and husks. You’d soar
To heaven, I scarcely reach the stable door,
One bird’s an eagle born—
Falk.
And one a hen.
Strawman.
Yes, laugh away, and say it be so, grant
I am a hen. There clusters to my cluck