Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir’d his overthrow.
Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount
Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir’d his overthrow.
