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. (Quote by - James Beattie)

The false lapwynge, full of trecherye. (Quote by - Geoffrey Chaucer)

Amid thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. (Quote by - Oliver Goldsmith)

Now begin; For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing runs Close by the ground, to hear our conference. (Quote by - William Shakespeare)