after this give him a roll of your best SCOURING, and so stove
him up as hot as you can for that night; in the morning, if you

find his head swelled, you must suck his wounds again, and bathe
them with warm ****; then take the powder of herb Robert, and put

it into a fine bag, and pounce his wounds therewith; after this,
give him a good handful of bread to eat out of warm ****, and so

put him into the stove again, and let him not feel the air till
the swelling be fallen.'

A cock sometimes took a long time to recover from his wounds--as,
indeed, may be well supposed from the terrible 'punishment' which

he necessarily received; and so our professor goes on to say:--
'If after you have put out your wounded cock to their walks, and

visiting them a month or two after, you find about their head any
swollen bunches, hard and blackish at one end, you may then

conclude that in such bunches there are unsound cores, which must
be opened and crushed out with your thumbs; and after this, you

must suck out the corruption, and filling the holes full of fresh
butter, you need not doubt a cure.'

A poeticaldescription of a cock-fight, by Dr R. Wild, written at
the commencement of the last century, will give an idea of the

'diversion.'
'No sooner were the doubtful people set,

The match made up, and all that would had bet,
But straight the skilful judges of the play;

Brought forth their sharp-heel'd warriors, and they
Were both in linnen bags--as if 'twere meet,

Before they died, to have their winding-sheet.
Into the pit they're brought, and being there,

Upon the stage, the Norfolk Chanticleer
Looks stoutly at his ne'er before seen foe,

And like a challenger began to crow,
And clap his wings, as if he would display

His warlike colours, which were black and grey.
'Meantime, the wary Wisbich walks and breathes

His active body, and in fury wreathes
His comely crest, and often with a sound,

He whets his angry beak upon the ground.
This done, they meet, not like that coward breed

Of Aesop; these can better fight than feed:
They scorn the dunghill; 'tis their only prize

TO DIG FOR PEARLS WITHIN EACH OTHER'S EYES.
'They fought so nimbly that 'twas hard to know,

E'en to the skill'd, whether they fought or no;
If that the blood which dyed the fatal floor

Had not borne witness of 't. Yet fought they more;
As if each wound were but a spur to prick

Their fury forward. Lightning's not more quick,
Or red, than were their eyes: 'twas hard to know

Whether 'twas blood or anger made them so.
I'm sure they had been out had they not stood

More safe by being fenced in with blood.
Thus they vied blows; but yet (alas!) at length,

Altho' their courage was full tried, their strength
And blood began to ebb.

Their wings, which lately at each blow they clapp'd
(As if they did applaud themselves), now flapp'd.

And having lost th' advantage of the heel,
Drunk with each other's blood, they only reel.

From either eyes such drops of blood did fall
As if they wept them for their funeral.

And yet they fain would fight; they came so near,
Methought they meant into each other's ear

TO WHISPER WOUNDS; and when they could not rise,
They lay and look'd blows into each other's eyes.

But now the tragic part! After this fit,
When Norfolk cock had got the best of it,

And Wisbich lay a dying, so that none,
Tho' sober, but might venture Seven to One;

Contracting, like a dying taper, all
His strength, intending with the blow to fall,

He struggles up, and having taken wind,
Ventures a blow, and strikes the other blind!

'And now poor Norfolk, having lost his eyes,
Fights only guided by antipathies:

With him, alas! the proverb holds not true--
The blows his eyes ne'er saw his heart most rue.

At length, by chance, he stumbled on his foe,
Not having any power to strike a blow.

He falls upon him with his wounded head,
And makes his conqueror's wings his feather-bed;

Where lying sick, his friends were very chary
Of him, and fetch'd in haste a Pothecary;

But all in vain! His body did so blister
That 'twas capable" target="_blank" title="a.无能力的；不能的">incapable of any glyster;

Wherefore, at length, opening his fainting bill,
He call'd a scriv'ner and thus made his Will.

'IMPRIMIS--Let it never be forgot,
My body freely I bequeath to th' pot,

Decently to be boil'd.
****

ITEM: Executors I will have none
But he that on my side laid Seven to One;

And, like a gentleman that he may live,
To him, and to his heirs, my COMB I give,

Together with my brains, that all may know
That oftentimes his brains did use to crow.

****
To him that 's dull I do my SPURS impart,

And to the coward I bequeath my HEART.
To ladies that are light, it is my will

My FEATHERS shall be given; and for my BILL
I'd give 't a tailor, but it is so short,

That I'm afraid he'll rather curse me for 't:
****

Lastly, because I feel my life decay,
I yield and give to Wisbich COCK THE DAY!'[70]

[70] The passages left out in the Will, as marked by asterisks,
though witty, are rather too gross for modern eyes.

To quote from Pegge once more:--What aggravates the reproach and
disgrace upon us Englishmen, are those species of fighting which

are called--"the battle royal and the Welsh main"--known nowhere
in the world, as I think, but here; neither in China, nor in

Persia, nor in Malacca, nor among the savage tribes of America.
These are scenes so bloody as almost to be too shocking to

relate; and yet as many may not be acquainted with the horrible
nature of them, it may be proper, for the excitement of our

aversion and detestation, to describe them in a few words.
'In the battle royal, an unlimited number of fowls are pitted;

and after they have slaughtered one another, for the diversion
(dii boni!) of the otherwisegenerous and humane Englishman, the

single surviving bird is to be esteemed the victor, and carries
away the prize. The Welsh main consists, we will suppose, of

sixteen pairs of cocks; of these the sixteen conquerors are
pitted a second time; and, lastly, the two conquerors of these

are pitted a fifth time; so that (incredible barbarity!)
thirty-one cocks are sure to be most inhumanly murdered for the

sport and pleasure, the noise and nonsense, nay, I may say the
profane cursing and swearing, of those who have the effrontery to