Thy hands are washt; but, O, the water's spilt That labour'd to have washt thy guilt: The flood, if any can, that can suffice, Must have its fountaine in thine eyes. CR. ANOTHER VERSION. The unjust judge washt his hands at the time: Ah, but no water can wash out thy crime. No water washt it out: if any will, 'Tis that which must from thy owne eyes distil. B. CXVIII. _In piscem dotatum._ Matt. xvii. 27. Tu piscem si, Christe, velis, venit ecce, suumque Fert pretium: tanti est vel periisse tibi. Christe, foro tibi non opus est; addicere nummos Non opus est: ipsum se tibi piscis emet. _The stater-giving fish._ A fish Thou wishest, Lord; And without e'er a word, Behold, it swims to Thee, Fetching its own cost, free. Thou needest not to go In markets to and fro; Nor need'st Thou price to bring-- The fish owns Thee its king. G. CXIX. _Ego vici mundum._ Joan. xvi. 33. Tu contra mundum dux es meus, optime Jesu? At tu, me miserum! dux meus ipse jaces. Si tu, dux meus, ipse jaces, spes ulla salutis? Immo, ni jaceas tu, mihi nulla salus. _I have overcome the world._ Jesus, my Captain, give me victories! Alas, Jesus Himself, my Captain, dies. And if my Captain fall, what hope have I? No hope at all, unless my Captain die. B. ANOTHER VERSION. Art Thou my Chief, best Lord, against the foe? But Thou, my Chief, me wretched! liest low. If Thou, my Chief, liest low, what help for me? Nay, if Thou liest not low, no help can be. A. CXX. _In ascensionem Dominicam._ Act. i. 10. Vadit, io, per aperta sui penetralia cœli: It coelo, et coelum fundit ab ore novum. Spargitur ante pedes, et toto sidere pronus Jam propius solis sol bibit ora sui. At fratri debere negans sua lumina Phœbe, Aurea de Phoebo jam meliore redit. Hos, de te victo, tu das, Pater, ipse triumphos: Unde triumphares, quis satis alter erat? _On the ascension of our Lord._ Through open'd depths of His own heaven He soars, And from His face in heaven a new heaven pours. Scatter'd before Him down the welkin sinks The sun, and its own sun's near glory drinks. Moon unto sun for light no more beholden, Now from more lustrous sun returns all golden. These triumphs o'er Thyself Thou grantest, Lord; Triumphs no other could suffice to 'accord. R. WI. CXXI. _In descensum Spiritus Sancti._ Act. ii. Jam cœli circum tonuit fragor: arma minasque Turbida cum flammis mista ferebat hiems. Exclamat Judaeus atrox: Venit ecce nefandis, Ecce venit meriti fulminis ira memor. Verum ubi composito sedit fax blandior astro, Flammaque non laesas lambit amica comas; Judaeis, fulmen quia falsum apparuit esse, Hoc ipso verum nomine fulmen erat.