Now stole upon the time the dead of night, (163)
When heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes: (164)
No comfortable star did lend his light, (165)
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries; (166)
Now serves the season that they may surprise
The silly lambs: pure thoughts are dead and still, (168)
While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.