Amid thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.

The false lapwynge, full of trecherye.

Now begin; For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing runs Close by the ground, to hear our conference.

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.

I love everything that's old, - old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine

They say women and music should never be dated