[♦] That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back’d toad!
[♦] Q. Mar. I call’d thee then vain flourish of my fortune;
I call’d thee then poor shadow, painted queen;
The presentation of but what I was;
[85] The flattering index of a direful pageant;
[♦] One heaved a-high, to be hurl’d down below;
[♦] A mother only mock’d with two sweet babes;
[♦] A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble,
A sign of dignity, a garish flag
90 To be the aim of every dangerous shot;