So great an Esteem had his Majesty the late King of Denmark for Cocking. And that famed Hero, the young Swedeland King, at the Head of a Handful of Men, cuts through the frozen Muscovites, and makes the Haughty Czar, amidst his mighty Numbers tremble, and beg for Peace, resolving never hereafter to draw his Cimiter against a professed Cocker, as his Swedeish Majesty is notoriously known to be, and has been from his very Cradle almost.
And the great Hector of Europe, the most Christian King, Lewis the Fourteenth of France, is said to complain of nothing so much as the want of Cocking in his Country, where the Climate is such, that a Cock of the Game cannot bear the serenity, or rather the over Sharpness of the Air, which penetrates the otherwise hardy Bodies of these Martial Birds, to such a degree, that in a few days time they become so dull, heavy, and heartless, that they have no mind to Fight, and quickly after fall into some incurable Disease, such as the Black-Sickness, the Roop-evil, and the like, of which they soon die.
Yet in the hottest Climates in the World, in the most Burning Regions, such as Frying-pan Bay, and also in the Frigid Zone, where everlasting Winter seems to dwell, are Cocks of the Game frequently known both to Live, Breed, and Fight, and that as well as in any of the most Mild and Temperate Climates of the World, where they are kept, France and one part of Spain only excepted, which is a Wonder, and the natural cause a Secret as yet undiscover’d.
In Holland they are common, and Cocking is there greatly practised, and much encouraged by the States: And really it were to be wished that our own Nation were but as much inclined to countenance and encourage so innocent an Exercise as Cocking; and how great would the benefit be, if in nothing else, the good effects of it would soon be seen in this, that it would divert the English Gentry from effeminate Dancing, Whoring, and Drinking, which are three Evils grown now almost Epidimical.
For want of Cudgel-playing, and Cocking, Men take to Drinking, and Dancing, and now wear Swords more for shew than Service: a Basket-hilt, with a Blade three Inches broad, such as our Valiant Ancestors had wont to wear, is now derided by the effeminate Fops of our Days, who chuse to hazzard their Lives and Fortunes in the fatal Arms of a diseased Mistress, rather than venture a push at single Rapier, or take a turn at Back-sword with a skilful Antagonist, where with their flaming Blades they might hew bright Honour from the Errors of their Adversary, and gild their memories with Applause in immortal Date.
And verily a better expedient to rouse the drowsy Courage, and thaw the frozen Vallour of a People lull’d with soft Ease, and degenerated into base and servile Effeminacy, there cannot be found out than Cocking.
Next to which Sword-play, and Wrestling are the most Laudable and Masculine Recreations, and after these Hunting, provided it be a Chace that has somewhat of Audacity in it, as the Lion, Bear, Wolf, or Boar, all which are Bold and Noble Chases.
But to run Whooting after a poor timmérous Hare, or ride mading over Hedge and Ditch in pursuit of a Fox, that perhaps has pinched two or three Geese, or snap’d a Lamb from some unwary Shepherd, and is therefore by Diana doomed to Die and briskly followed by her rural Maids, dressed up each in her Cap and Feather, but for the Sons of Mars, to be drawn forth after so feeble a Chase, is really a very mean, and but little better than a base ignoble Divertisment, that spends a Man’s Time, wasts his Treasure, and profits him nothing: whereas Cocking fits a Man either for Peace, or War, and creates both Courage, and Constancy, with Good-nature, and ingenuity all glued together, according to the Poet, where he says thus;
————and some more Martial are, But Cocking fits a Man for Peace, or War; It makes Men bold and forward for the Field, And learns them there rather to die than yield. Cocking does also Constancy create, And arms a Man to Wrestle with his Fate; Be it more happy, or severe, his Mind, Is still the same to a brave end Inclin’d.
And Cleveland in one of the sweetest Poems that ever was Pen’d, tells us,