In peace? Not always.… There’s a band
Of roving thieves (or close at hand)
Who watched thee draw the nectar up
And beg one drop with doleful cup.
Beware, my love! They humbly crave;
Soon each will prove a saucy knave.
The merest sip?—’Tis set aside.
What’s left?—They are not satisfied.
All must be theirs, who rudely fling
A rakish claw athwart thy wing;