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Translation of " Aquae in Vinum Versae," by

H. KELSEY WHITE.

THE WATER TURNED INTO WINE.

Whence in your waters, say, that alien glow?
What rose new-born your 'mazèd stream hath flushed?
Some power divine, my guests, confess, is here :

The modest nymph hath seen her God, and blushed.

Glossary.

Bin (Wishes): dre.

Complaining (Music's Duel): lamenting.

Composures (Upon Two Green Apricots): compositions. Embraves (Sospetto d'Herode): adorns or brightens. Eyne (The Tear, etc.): eyes.

Fond (Sospetto d' Herode, etc.): foolish.

Gladding (Sospetto d'Herode): enlivening.

Grutch (Music's Duel): grumble.

Illustrious (Foul Morning, etc.): lustrous.

Instile (Foul Morning): instill.

Mistress (Wishes): lover.

Owe (Cupid's Crier): own.

Perspicil (Isaacson's Chronology): optic glass.
Prefer (Music's Duel): to offer or present.
Prevents (Music's Duel): anticipates.
Rampant (Wishes): predominant, obstrusive.

Strook (Sospetto d' Herode): struck.

Suspect (Sospetto d' Herode): suspicion.

Taffeta (Wishes): a sort of thin silk. Tire (Sospetto d'Herode): head-dress. -(Wishes): dress.

Tissue (Wishes): ribband.

Inder to the First Lines.

A Brook, whose stream so great, so good
A drop, one drop, how sweetly one fair drop
All Hybla's honey, all that sweetness can
All trees, all leafy groves confess the Spring
All we have is God's, and yet

And now thou 'rt set wide ope, the spear's sad art

A plant of noble stem, forward and fair

As if the storm meant him

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Britain! the mighty Ocean's lovely bride!

Christ bids the dumb tongue speak; it speaks; the sound
Come and let us live, my dear

Come death, come bonds, nor do you shrink, my ears

Could not once blinding me, cruel, suffice?

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Each blest drop on each blest limb

Faithless and fond Mortality

Four teeth thou hadst that rank'd in goodly state

Go, smiling souls, your new-built cages break

Happy me! O happy sheep!

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Hath only Anger an omnipotence

Her eyes' flood licks His feet's fair stain
High mounted on an ant, Nanus the tall

How fit our well-rank'd feasts do follow

If ever Pity were acquainted

I paint so ill, my piece had need to be

Is murder no sin? or a sin so cheap

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I would be married, but I'd have no wife

Know you, fair, on what you look?

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