Perchance some night your hawk may wanton prove,
And leaving place and keeper seek to rove.
Moreover, oh! my friend, should vagrant prey
Fall to her beak as quarry while astray;
Think not, howe’er you worry, to retain
Your hawk, that she can ever fly again.
Beshrew the jade! I would not have her so,
Not as a gift, though friends might scarce say “No.”
When garden trees run riot o’er the wall
The gardener brings his axe and fells them all.