Geoffrey Chaucer on Chickens

“His comb was redder than the fyn coral, And batailed, as it were a castel-wal. His bile was blak, and as the jeet it shoon; Lyk asur were his legges, and his toon; His nayles whytter than the lilie flour, And lyk the burned gold was his colour.”

“This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce Sevene hennes, for to doon al his plesaunce, Whiche were his sustres and his paramours, And wonder lyk to him, as of colours. Of whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte Was cleped faire damoysele Pertelote.”

“             She hadde a cok, hight Chauntecleer, In al the land of crowing nas his peer. His vois was merier than the mery orgon On messe-dayes that in the chirche gon; Wel sikerer was his crowing in his logge, Than is a clokke, or an abbey orlogge.”