Covey

But, loa, with a ſuddeyn fluſhing thee galligut Harpeys / From mountayns flitter, with gaggling whirlerye flapping / Their wings: […] This coouie rauenouſe, and ſwift with a deſperat onſet, / They gripte in tallants the meat, and foorth ſpourged a ſtincking / Foule carrayne fauoure: […]

[S]o leacherous they [female partridges] are, that ſetting aſide the naturall affection and love to their young covie, vvhen they are broodie, […] yet if they hear once the Foulers chanterell comming tovvard the male, and that he doth call, preſently they vvill leave the neſt and ſuffer the egs to chill, and for very jealouſie crie again and call back the males, and offer themſelves to be troden, for feare they vvould goe to others. […] And all this doth ſhe to amuſe the Fouler after her, untill ſhe have trained him a contrarie vvay from the covey. Novv by that time that ſhee is paſt that feare, and freed of the motherly care ſhe had of her young ones, than vvill ſhee get into the furrovv of ſome land, lie along her backe, catch a clot of earth up vvith her feet, and therevvith hide her vvhole bodie, and ſo have both her ſelfe and her couvey.

[A]s for the partridges vvhen they be laid for by the fovvler, together vvith their covin of young birds, they ſuffer them to flie avvay as vvell as they can, and make ſhift to ſave themſelves, but the old rovvens full ſubtilly ſeeme to vvait the comming of the ſaid hunters, abiding untill they approch neere unto them, and by keeping about their feet, traine them ſtill avvay after them, ready ever as it vvere to be caught; […] thus they play mock-holiday vvith the fovvlers, and yet vvith ſome danger to themſelves for the ſafetie of their young, untill they have trained them a great vvay off, vvho ſought for their lives.

See hovv the vvell-taught pointer leads the vvay: / The ſcent grovvs vvarm; he ſtops; he ſprings the prey; / The flutt'ring coveys from the ſtubble riſe, / And on ſvvift vving divide the ſounding ſkies; […]

"Fine shooting," again muttered Lord Merton; "and if I knew Lord Etheringhame, he might ask me to shoot over his grounds." Campbell talks of the magic of a name—yes, if the name be partridges. "Well, Adelaide; but how do you mean to contrive it?" […] A lingering hope of the covies gave unusual animation to her brother's manner, when he hoped their acquaintance was only begun: […]

Like when you quail huntin' and it's getting dark and you can hear the boss bird whistlin' tryin' to get the covey together again, and he's coming toward you slow and whistlin' soft, cause he knows you somewhere around with your gun.

No sooner had I spoken than a covey of perhaps twenty birds flushed wild ahead of us and disappeared into the pine woods. […] Just the slamming of a car door, too much talking, or a fast-moving dog will cause a covey to flush well out of gun range.

[T]here is not a better Spanniell in England to spring a couie of queanes than Martin.