Prowl.

When the midnight strikes in the belfry dark

And the white goose quakes at the fox’s bark,

We saddle the horse that is hayless, oatless,

Hoofless and pranceless, kickless and coatless,

We canter off for a midnight prowl

Whoo-hoo-hoo, says the hook-eared owl.

John Masefield, from The Midnight Folk