I looked and poor Fed was dead.

The other rooster had popped both gaffs through his head.

He was a dead rooster; yea, a dead cock in the pit.

Tom went and picked up his rooster, and said, "Poor Fed, I loved you; you used to crow every morning at daylight to wake me up.

I have carried you a long time, but, alas! alas! poor Fed, your days are numbered, and those who fight will sometimes be slain.
Now, friends, conscripts, countrymen, if you have any tears to shed, prepare to shed them now.