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There is a jewel
There is a jewel, which no Indian mines
Can buy, no chymic art can counterfeit,
It makes men rich in greatest poverty,
Makes water wine; turns wooden cups to gold;
The homely whistle, to sweet music’s strain.
Seldom it comes, to few from Heaven sent,
That much in little, all in nought content.
poem
by
John Wilbye
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