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 Then lady Cynthia, mistress of the shade,
 Goes, with the fashionable owls, to bed.  
 Then lady Cynthia, mistress of the shade,
 Goes, with the fashionable owls, to bed. 
 When cats run home and light is come,
 And dew is cold upon the ground,
  And the read more 
 When cats run home and light is come,
 And dew is cold upon the ground,
  And the far-off stream is dumb,
   And the whirring sail goes round,
    And the whirring sail goes round;
     Alone and warming his five wits,
      The white owl in the belfry sits. 
 Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;
 Then, for the third part of a minute, hence--
  read more 
 Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;
 Then, for the third part of a minute, hence--
  Some to kill canters in the musk-rose buds,
   Some war with reremice for their leathren wings,
    To make my small elves coats, and some keep back
     The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders
      At our quaint spirits. 
 The screech-owl, with ill-boding cry,
 Portends strange things, old women say;
  Stops every fool that passes by,
read more 
 The screech-owl, with ill-boding cry,
 Portends strange things, old women say;
  Stops every fool that passes by,
   And frights the school-boy from his play. 
 It is the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman
 Which gives the stern'st good-night.  
 It is the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman
 Which gives the stern'st good-night. 
 When all aloud the wind doth blow,
 And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
  And birds sit brooding read more 
 When all aloud the wind doth blow,
 And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
  And birds sit brooding in the snow,
   And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
    When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
     Then nightly sings the staring owl,
      Tu-who;
       Tu-whit, tu-who: a merry note,
        While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 The wailing owl
 Screams solitary to the mournful moon.  
 The wailing owl
 Screams solitary to the mournful moon. 
 St Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was!
 The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.  
 St Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was!
 The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold. 
 The large white owl that with eye is blind,
 That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow,
read more 
 The large white owl that with eye is blind,
 That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow,
  Is carried away in a gust of wind.