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Section 398
Passage 1 of 2 · section 398 of 653
1Qu.
2Nimble mischance, that art so light of foote,
3Doth not thy Embassage belong to me?
4And am I last that knowes it? Oh thou think'st
5To serue me last, that I may longest keepe
6Thy sorrow in my breast. Come Ladies goe,
7To meet at London, Londons King in woe.
8What was I borne to this: that my sad looke,