The direful raven's, or the night-owl's voice,
Frightens the neighbourhood with boding noise;
While each believes the knowing bird portends
Sure death, or to himself, or to his friends;
Thou all that the nocturnal prophet knows,
Is want of food, which he by whooting shows.
But say this oracle with wings and beak,
As certain truths as Delphic priestess speak,
And that through prejudice you should suppose
This boder could futurity disclose,
Yet be not mov'd; distinguish thus, I'm free,
'These omens threaten something else, not me:
Some danger to my body, goods, or name,
My children, or my wife, they may proclaim;
But these are but the appendixes of me,
To me these tokens all auspicious be,
Since I from outward accidents like these,
May reap much real profit, if I please.'