And I, the hapless mate to one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye
Where my poor young was lim’d, was caught and kill’d.”
Henry VI. Part III. Act v. Sc. 6.
A similar idea will be found in Lucrece:—
“Birds never lim’d, no secret bushes fear.”
Again—
“They are limed with the twigs that threaten them.”
All’s Well that ends Well, Act iii. Sc. 5.
And—