A yard 4260 she had, enclosed all about With stickës, and a dryë ditch without, In which she had a cock, hight Chanticleer; In all the land of crowing n’as 4261 his peer. 4262 His voice was merrier than the merry orgón, 4263 On massë days that in the churches gon. Well sickerer 4264 was his crowing in his lodge, Than is a clock, or an abbáy horloge. 4265 By nature he knew each ascensioún Of th’ equinoctial in thilkë town; For when degrees fiftenë were ascended, Then crew he, that it might not be amended. His comb was redder than the fine corál, Embattell’d 4266