“Beneath their nails

Feathers they feel, and on their faces scales;

Their horny beaks at once each other scare,

Their arms are plumed, and on their backs they bear

Pied wings, and flutter in the fleeting air.

Chatt’ring, the scandal of the woods, they fly,

And there continue still their clam’rous cry:

The same their eloquence, as maids or birds,