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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.

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