And seized the old rooster with both her hands,
And, with triumph written all over her face,
Her victim bore to the open space.
Then she wrung and wrung with might and main,
And wrung and twisted and wrung again,
’Till, sure that the spark of life had fled,
She threw him down on the ground for dead.
But the rooster would not consent to die,
And be made up into chicken-pie,
So he sprang away with a cackle and bound,