The Old Horned-owl
As soon as the Cock has crowed all becomes temporary provisional—
The Barn-owl
Though the Night be still black, we are painfully aware of it growing less and less black!
The Screech-owl
When his metallic voice has cleft the night, we squirm like a worm in a fruit that is cut in two.
The Blackbird
[On his fagot, mystified.] The other Cocks, however—
The Grand-duke
Their song creates no uneasiness. It is his song which must be silenced.
All the Night-birds
[Flapping their wings, in a long lament.] Silenced! Silenced!
An Owl
How can it be accomplished?
The Screech-owl
The Blackbird here has worked in our cause.
The Blackbird
Who—I ?
The Screech-owl
Yes, you laughed at him.