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Section 206
Passage 1 of 1 · section 206 of 1239
1Q. M.
2Poore painted Queen, vain flourish of my fortune,
3Why strew'st thou Sugar on that Bottel'd Spider,
4Whose deadly Web ensnareth thee about?
5Foole, foole, thou whet'st a Knife to kill thy selfe:
6The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me,
7To helpe thee curse this poysonous Bunch‑backt Toade.