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“Here, certès, Bacchus’ handwork I descry,” quoth she, “but Fortune ne’er shall gar him gain his wicked object, nor shall ’scape mine eye the damn’d intention which he plans in vain.” Thus she; and slipping instant from the sky lightly she ’lighteth on the spacious Main, bidding her Nymphs to wear as on she sped a rosy garland on each golden head.