At last, feeling this to be in some way a substitute for the words she was unable to find, she began to sing Beasts of England. 🔊 The other animals sitting round her took it up, and they sang it three times over−very tunefully, but slowly and mournfully, in a way they had never sung it before. 🔊
They had just finished singing it for the third time when Squealer, attended by two dogs, approached them with the air of having something important to say. 🔊 He announced that, by a special decree of Comrade Napoleon, Beasts of England had been abolished. 🔊 From now onwards it was forbidden to sing it. The animals were taken aback.
"It's no longer needed, comrade," said Squealer stiffly. "Beasts of England was the song of the Rebellion. 🔊 But the Rebellion is now completed. The execution of the traitors this afternoon was the final act. 🔊 The enemy both external and internal has been defeated. In Beasts of England we expressed our longing for a better society in days to come. 🔊 But that society has now been established. Clearly this song has no longer any purpose."
Frightened though they were, some of the animals might possibly have protested, but at this moment the sheep set up their usual bleating of "Four legs good, two legs bad," which went on for several minutes and put an end to the discussion. 🔊
So Beasts of England was heard no more. In its place Minimus, the poet, had composed another song which began:
Never through me shalt thou come to harm! 🔊
and this was sung every Sunday morning after the hoisting of the flag. But somehow neither the words nor the tune ever seemed to the animals to come up to Beasts of England. 🔊