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Those Rooks, dear, from morning till night, They seem to do nothing but quarrel and fight, And wrangle and jangle, and plunder. - Dinah Maria Mulock (used pseudonym Mrs. Craik), Thirty Years--The Blackbird and the Rooks Invite the rook who high amid the boughs, In early spring, his airy city builds, And ceaseless caws amusive. - James Thomson (1), Seasons--Spring (l. 756) Where in venerable rows Widely waving oaks enclose The moat of yonder antique hall, Swarm the rooks with clamorous call; And, to the toils of nature true, Wreath their capacious nests anew. - Thomas Warton, the Younger, Ode X
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