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Section 417
Passage 1 of 2 · section 417 of 941
1Queene.
2Free Lords:
3Cold Snow melts with the Sunnes hot Beames:
4Henry, my Lord, is cold in great Affaires,
5Too full of foolish pittie: and Glosters shew
6Beguiles him, as the mournefull Crocodile
7With sorrow snares relenting passengers;
8Or as the Snake, roll'd in a flowring Banke,