At first she Poultised his Foot, and after that applied the most violent drawing Salves, but to no purpose; for neither _Venice Turpentine_, nor all the Vehement things that she could think on would do any thing; until she applied _Burdock_ Leaves to it, in the nature of a Poultise, and that, after some time did draw it, and brought away abundance of viscous, putrified Matter.
After which she tried to heal the Wound, but to no purpose, for it broke out again, whereupon I took out the Ball or Frog of the Cock’s Foot, and the Gentlewoman healed it again, but it swell’d after this and broke of itself, and run at several Places, so that I was forced a second time to cut out the Ball of my Cock’s Foot, and then after long Salving, with the Application of some drying Powders it was healed up firm and well, and his Foot proved sound and good to his dying Day, but was greatly Clubbed and ugly to look upon, yet did he breed good Chickens and fought divers admirable Battles after this, to my great delight and satisfaction.
And this I only mention by the way, to shew that if you will but use care with some little cost, and add thereto Pains and Patience, most Distempers will be found curable.
The _Black Sickness_ is a Disease so highly destructive to Cocks of the Game, that Men try in vain to cure that incurable Distemper, when once it is got into the Blood, and the Cock or Hen begins to blacken about the Head, and grow Sick withal, no Medicine as yet was ever found that could retrieve a Cock from Death in such a condition.
And therefore to free the Royal Warrior from a Languishing Death, when once he appear to be contaminated and over run with this irresistable Plague, called the _Black Sickness_, I advise that with a tender hand you speedily strike off his Head, and thereby rescue him from those fatal ills which this mortal contagion most assuredly brings along with it.
And thus I think I have gone through the whole System of Cocking, with as much plainness and brevity as might be, without omitting any one particular that is necessary to be understood by the Ingenious Cock-Master.
_Of all the numerous Feathered Flock Which_ Jove _Created, the brave Fighting_-Cock _Contains within his truly generous Breast, By much, a Nobler Courage than the rest. When first he spies the Bloody trampled Pit, He claps his Wings, and Crows for Joy to see’t:_ And when set down, he proudly struts along, Careless, and unconcern’d at the great Throng; Who Shouting clap their Hands to see him go So eagerly to meet his threatening Foe; Whose lofty Crimson Front when first he spies, He like the_ Bazilick _thro’ his swoln Eyes Darts Flames of Fury, Death, Revenge, & Spight, And thus enrag’d begins the Bloody Fight. Then on they fall, and like two Dragons meet, Rending the Air both with their Wings and Feet, Untill at length grown mad, they cease to Ward, And desperately closing scorn their Guard. Then, like to Thunder, fall their dreadful Stroaks, And as that slives the strong and mighty Oaks, So their fierce whirling Blows sharply rush thro’ The tender Flesh, and slive the Bones in two. Whilst from their gaping Wounds there streams a flood Which like a Deluge drowns the Pit with Blood: The wounded Warriors reeling to, and fro’, At length grow Faint, and stagger at each Blow: But bravely still maintain the doubtful fight, Altho’ the one want Limbs, the other Sight: ’Till faithless_ Fortune _with a fatal Frown, Sends giddy Chance to pull the destin’d down. Whilst cruel_ Death _in Crimson Colours meets The mangled Carcass, and in Purple Sheets, Presents him strait before the_ Victor _dead; Who views him stretcht upon his Bloody Bed, And hears the Crowd with Shouts Ring his last Peal, Which mournful Eccho Chimes his dying Knell:_ And Praises pierce the Skies from the vast Throng, Who shout the_ Victor _as he Rides along._