Changed to a lapwing by th' avenging god, He made the barren waste his lone abode, And oft on soaring pinions hover'd o'er The lofty palace then his own no more.
Amid thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.Oliver Goldsmith
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs Close by the ground, to near our conference.william shakespeare
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