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J H S
1
Comprehensive Translation
of the Duenos Inscription
By David Rudmin
INTRODUCTION
In proposing yet another translation for this most famous of early Latin inscriptions, I would just
note that this isn’t a partial-and-emergent, but complete-and-final translation. Serendipitously,
the final translation has complete topicality to the function of the artifact, and hangs together
with internal self-consistency. After translating, a few conclusions will be drawn from the
completed work.
METHODOLOGY
In deciphering this partially-intelligible inscription, in which there were all kinds of possibilities
for how the letters could be grouped and interpreted, it was critical to employ a fundamentally
‘top-down’ method, beginning from, and constantly referring back to a consideration of the
context, and what such an inscription, or part of it, would probably say. Conversely, previous
interpreters, employing a ‘bottom-up’ approach, that is, reasoning SOLELY from the possible
interpretations of each individual textual-unit, were erroneously led to opine illusory characters
such as a supposed virgin (“virco”).
1
As the translation progressed, and guideposts started to be identified, this cognizance of the
overriding context developed into a cognizance more of the overriding syntax, or the way in
which particular sentences should-and-would probably be expressed. Indeed top-down, large-
scale sentence-syntax was a much more dependable guide, on its own suggesting what words
1
Eichner, 209. This is a commonly cited translation, appearing on many websites.
Praised be Jesus Christ,
now and forever, who gives us
light, so as to avoid the former ignorance.
J H S
2
should appear, in advance, before they had yet been identified, than any amount of ‘bush-
whacking’ letter-rearrangements and word-studies. So try to see the forest, not the trees.
In weighing competing interpretations, it was important to assign the greatest surety and
certainty to those sections and (where a section had more than one possible interpretation)
those interpretations which had contextual-plausibility, conforming to the overall message of the
artifact. Moving from these clear areas, to more opaque ones, the goal was to decipher those
opaque lacunae which were already surrounded by known material. In moving from known to
unknown, in this way, that is, while being continually conscious of the contextual overall purpose
of the artifact, it was possible to avoid quite a few ‘rabbit holes’, that were really just no more
than a bunch of illusory ‘dead ends.’ Focusing on the overall message, in this way, it was also
possible to, where necessary, alter or insert logical sounds, that were utterly missing in the
written text. For instance, “pākā,” appearing at the end of a “don’t . . . , but . . . ” sentence, could
be recognized as “pLāca,” an early form of “place”/”placeat.” Similarly, it would’ve been nearly
impossible to identify the passive infinitive suffix “-εσθαι” in the Latin “-esiai” were a
complementary infinitive not expressly called for by “pLāca.”
Of course, an obvious indication of whether a top-down method like this was in fact successful
or not, is whether the final proposed translation really ‘comes together’ in the end, both
(1) having external contextual plausibility; while also
(2) holding together with internal self-consistency; and, if one is lucky, even
(3) flowing nicely with spoken syntactical elan, that is, conforming to the way that such
early languages were typically phrased.
If it does two or three of these things, then that’s a pretty good indication that, aside from a stray
detail, here or there, the translation is mainly correct. Of course, it’s hoped that you’ll agree that
these three things were also achieved, here.
TRANSLATOR
The author of this article specializes in Latin and ancient Greek, but not Sanskrit, and has
published several YouTube videos about the expression of the ancient Greek accent.
POSSIBILITIES
POSSIBLE WORDINGS:
First, before we give our final translation, let us go through all the sane, plausible possibilities. It
is our belief that by presenting a probability-field of close, similarly-functioning alternatives, we
make our overall translation-project more robust, as well as identifying target areas for future
discussion.
J H S
3
As will be evident in the charts below, as the possibilities are presented, some possibilities will
‘open the door’ to further alternatives, sometimes to even a whole branching family of
alternatives. Under such circumstances, we dispense with rewriting all the same words in that
particular row, and just leave the columns blank there, relying upon the reader to mentally
‘transfer down’ the words above it, into each row.
Line 1A – Here, each word-or-phrase has about two possible interpretations, here listed below
it, from most similar and natural (1), to most distorted (3):
Trans. – Duenos med feced en manom einom duenoi.
(1) Bonus mē fēcit in manum enum* bueno. *Greek
(2) Dominus manō enō* dominō.
(3) manū eōrum
Line 1B – This is the easiest line, with the fewest possible interpretations:
Trans. 1 – Nē mēd malō statōd.
(1) Nē mē malō statō(te).
(2) mihi* malōs datō(te). *Early Latin Dative would probably just be an
Accusative (mē) whose vowel has an extra
syllable infixed: me-ē.
Line 2 – Line 2 is the ‘meat’ of the inscription, and so it is here presented as divided into Line 2A
(An introductory address, or invocation), Line 2B (the protasis, “Don’t...”), and Line 2C (the
apodosis, “...but [instead]....”).
Line 2A – Here, we really have just a single letter-grouping choice of what to do with “sat”:
Trans. – Iove sat deivos qoi mēd mitat, . . .
(1) Zeus* at dīvus quī mē mittat * An early pronunciation
(2) Jove sat[is] cui
(3) Jove Sat.[urnī]
J H S
4
Line 2B – Here, we have quite a few possible letter-groupings:
Trans. 1 – Nei tēd endō cosmis vircō siēd
Trans. 2 – “ tē dandō “ “ “
Trans. 3 – “ tēdendō “ “ “
Trans. 4 – “ “ cosmis vir cōsiēd* *Opaque garbage, for now.
Trans. 5 – “ “ cosmī suī reōsiēd Some photos show the “c” as “e”.
Again, for each of these there were multiple possible letter-groupings:
Trans. 1-3 – Nei tēd endō cosmis vircō siēd (. . . to be continued. . . )
(1) Nē tē endō* cosmos* virgo sit *Greek
(2) Eī tē dandō cosmis
(3) Nē + eī† tē (d)andicus mīs † Elision
Trans. 4-7 – “ tēdendō cosmis vir cōsiēd
(4) taedendō cosmos* virgo sit *Greek
(5) vir con-s(c)it
(6) cosmī suī reosied*
(7) reō sit
Line 2C – Here, the big problem was figuring out what “noisi” was connected to, whether by
itself; or to all or half of “rivois”; or to the end of “___-esi”. A second, less-likely letter-grouping
family(4-5) involved a bunch of Italian-sounding plurals:
?
Trans. 1 – . . . as(t) tēd noisi o(p)- petoit esiāi pākā riuois.
(1) . . . at tē nōbīs ab- petit esse pāce rīvīs.
(2) nostrīs ob- petitesthai* plāc(ē)ā(t) *Greek
(3) p(l)ācārī
2
v(i)īs
Trans. 2 – . . . “ “ noi siope toi tesiāi “ “.
(4) nōs siopo[men]oi* thesiai* *Greek
(5) nostrī siopē* tōi* “
(6) siopoite* esse
2
Gordon, 58.
J H S
5
TRANSLATION
The final, proposed translation:
Line 1
Dvenos med feked en manom einom dvenoi. Ne med malos tatod.
BONUS MĒ FĒCIT IN MANŌ EINŌ BONŌ. NĒ MĒ MALŌS DATŌ(TE).
“A good man made me, in his hand, for good [use/intent]. Don’t give me bad/profane/base
[ liquid]s.
Line 2A
Ioves at deivos qoi med mitat . . .
IOVES–AT–DĪVUS CUI MĒ MITTAT, . . .
[O] (but/quite) divine (Jove/Zeus), with respect to [the one] who sends me, . . .
Line 2B & 2C
...nei tedendo cosmi svi reosied, a(s)t ted noisi op(p)etoit esiai paka rivois.
...NĒ EĪ TAEDENDŌ COSMĪ SUĪ REOSIET[Ō], AT TĒ (NŌBĪS OBPETOITESTHAI PLĀC((Ē)Ā(T))
/NOSTRĪS) RĪVĪS.
with respect to (him/it), may you not (have) (rush(ed)/glide(d)) away, while being tedious of
(his/its) appearance, but (may it please you / pacify yourself) to be besought (by us, with / by
our) streaming-libations.”
Praised be Jesus Christ,
now and forever, who gives us
light, so as to avoid the former ignorance.
J H S
6
OBSERVATIONS AND CONJECTURES
Phonetic character – Obviously, the text is highly phonetic, based on spoken, but not widely
written norms. For instance, “May not” occurs in Line 1B as “NE”, but in Line 2B as “NEI”
(although there it may be an elision of “NĒ + EĪ”). Additionally, “Datote” is arguably spelled
“Tatote.” MIT[T]AT lacks a “T”. Several diphthongs – “reosIEd, at ted noisi op(p)etOIt-” – are
obvious changes in mood (probably to optative), but although following Greek optative sound-
patterns, they don’t quite fit exactly into known Greek paradigms. The text incorporates
elements of both Latin and Greek grammar, and it may represent some related Itallic dialect,
which is but a parallel cousin of both, as the Italian peninsula is never short of intermediary
dialects.
Creole character – Surprisingly, for its short length, the inscription contains a lot of Greek mixed
into the Latin:
“Ioves” – is probably an intermediary form, pronounced halfway between “Jove” (Latin),
and “Ζευς” (Greek)
“Cosmi” is technically a Greek word: κοσμος.
“Einom” is obviously the Greek demonstrative: εκεινον.
3
“Reosied” is probably a Greek aorist subjunctive or optative, ρευσῃ(ς/τε) (“may you have
flowed”), or ρουσῃ(ς/τε) (“may you have rushed”), perhaps with a Latinized subjunctive ending
“-sit.” It may even, like “paka”, be a direct imperative: ρευθητι (“don’t flow!”)* / ρουθητι (“don’t
be rushed!”). Another possible translation would be “reo sit” (“Don’t be tedious, with respect to
him, a guilty one.”), but it’s unlikely that this latter possibility is correct, since it would display an
unnaturally showy interlocking word-order (ABAB), which would be thoroughly un-humble,
certainly out of place here where the item is being confessed as of “tedious” appearance,
unworthy of the divinity, to whom it is offered . * - N.b: ῥέω‘s aorist active has passive forms.
4
“ob-petoit-esthai”- is a Greco-Latin ‘chimera,’ a future passive infinitive, containing first
a Latin prefix & root (either “obpetit” or “obpetitit”, “seek,” with the latter’s reduplicated “-t-“
just connoting constant repetition of the seeking), but then a Greek ending (“-esthai”). The
3
Incidentally, this might shed light on the first word in the “Carmen Arvale”: “Enos lasos iuvate” might mean
“Εκεινους Larēs iuvāte,” although, in light of its last stanza (q.v.), it much more probably means “Nōs Larēs iuvāte.”
4
“ῥέω” in Liddell and Scott.
J H S
7
purely Greek ancestral-word would be αντι-ποθησεσθαι. (The Latin “-oi-” serves the same
function as the Greek“-η-,” namely, to super-aspirate the -T- sound, preceding it.
5
)
Considering it’s fence-straddling creole character, readers who might object to a missing or
incorrect letter here or there, should be reminded that it is a stupendous coincidence that the
inscription is intelligible with just Greek and Latin, considering how possible it would’ve been
for some other contemporaneous language to be mixed in, such as Oscan, or even just some
particularly unusual Grecolatin dialect. In fact, perhaps there really is some such ‘monkey-
wrench’ in play, here! Under such circumstances scribal perfection is not to be sought for, but
rather a loose understanding of the functional sound and sense – the contributed effect – of
each syllable. Of course, someone cannot competently do that, unless they are long
experienced in discerning the fine shades of both meaning, and sound, between closely similar
Grecolatin paradigmatic forms.
Imprecision – On that note, those who seek for a level of technical manipulability which could
so much as even posit a brand-new IE root,
6
are zealously overestimating its competence for
leveragability to draw utterly unnecessary and extreme conclusions, not to mention building
foundations on what was (before this paper) not nearly settled, but still deeply ‘shifting sands’.
Responding to a few of Arthur E.Gordon’s assertions about Dating – Since the inscription
contains no “Z”, nor “virco” (hence no “C”-in-place-of-“G”), nor hexameter, all the arguments
fall flat which used those forms to date it.
7
“Pacari,” although possible (in the reading “pacari viis”), yet is 80% likely not present at all, and
so conclusions about the dating of the emergence of -ārī from -seī in the passive infinitive, are
premature.
8
Neither can the high presence of Greek be used to date it, since it could just arise from “Magna
Graecia” (southern Italy). Other methods must therefore be used to date it, which exceed the
scope and expertise of this paper.
Future Imperative’s evolution – A curious benefit of ending imperatives in a consonant like “-D”
(e.g, “DATŌD”), is that the spelling admits of both singular and plural expressions: The “-D”
can be pronounced either as an un-aspirated termination of sound, in which case “DATŌD”
expresses the singular “DATŌ,” or it can be pronounced as an aspirated final syllable, in which
5
See aspiration discussion, below.
6
e.g. “mitat” was posited as a new IE root for “gives,” in Vine, 4.
7
Gordon, 57.
8
Ibid, 58.
J H S
8
case, it expresses the plural “DATŌTE.”
9
I want to propose that perhaps this really happened,
that “DATŌD” was a generic form, indiscriminate of number. Indeed, this may be true, not just
among imperatives, but among all 2nd person words, maybe even for 3rd person words, too:
Singular Generic Predecessor Plural
Imperative “DATŌ” <= “DATŌD” => “DATŌTE”
2nd Person “DATĀ(t)S” <= “DATATS” => “DATAT(s)E”
3rd Person “DATAT” <= “DATA(w)T” => “DATANT”
For instance, the hypothetical archaic 2nd person DATATS, could split into DATAS, and DATATE
merely based on whether you aspirate the final consonant. Similarly, the hypothetical archaic
3rd person DATAT, could spawn off a plural DATANT, merely by aspirating it with an extra hard
‘punch’ of air.
Indeed, if all future imperatives were at one time indistinguishable by number, and written in
this “-D” way, it would be natural that people would begin pronouncing the singulars and
plurals differently, just for convenience.
In conclusion, it might be a good idea then, for translators to consider imperative forms ending
in “-D” as admissible of either number.
Proto-Ablative – EN MANOM EINOM is a wonderfully insightful specimen of what is arguably a
proto-Ablative. The last word is clearly an early possessive adjective, from Greek EKEINON.
Greek lacks an Ablative case, so it is not surprising to see the author, here using a word from
within Greek vocabulary, to use another case, where he ought to use a true Ablative form, if such
existed yet. In Greek, such a phrase would’ve been written using the Dative (“ἐν χειρὶ αὐτοῦ”
10
),
so we might’ve expected a Dative EINOI here, but instead we have either an Ablative, or an
Accusative, indeed a misused Accusative (since neither Greek, nor Latin use the Accusative case
for the Place-Where function). What could possibly cause the author to commit such an error,
essentially saying “into his hand” (in + Accusative) rather than “in his hand” (in + Dative)? The
likely answer is that it is not in fact an error, because the author must’ve had a better case than
Dative to use: a true Ablative. First, there is not any proof that it is Accusative: Negatively, there
is no other Accusative form, for comparison, anywhere in this inscription (except the pronouns
“mēd” and “tēd,” which cannot be used as a guide, since they are irregular). Second, if you drop
the final “-M, then these forms would both look and function exactly like the Latin Ablative. As
the saying goes, “If it looks like a duck, acts like a duck, then it’s probably a duck.” So this is
probably an Ablative, and if it is, then oh how insightful it is! Let’s unpack it. Regardless of how
the Ablative sounded, it ultimately became a long vowel (voiced for a length of 2 morae). It is at
9
Kind of like the difference between an angry little girl saying just "stop;" or “stop-puh,” because she's extra angry.
10
Job 12:10, in the Septuagint Bible’s original Greek text.
J H S
9
least probable then that, barring evidence to the contrary, even at this early stage, it was
probably also a long vowel, maybe even of 2 morae, but certainly a long vowel (O as in “tome,”
not O as in “tom”). If so, then the added “-M” qualifies it, and gives us some clue as to just exactly
what quality of a long vowel it was: Certainly one of a low tone of voice, as in the deep sound of
“home,” or “roam.” Here we see not just how it is written, per se, but, more primarily, how it
was uniquely voiced, inflected, intoned, in comparison to the other oblique cases, surrounding
it:
CASE TERMINATION INTONATION EXAMPLES
Accusative - “___-D” Terse “mēd”; “tēd”.
Dative - “___-I” High , or rising pitch “duenoi”; “qoi”; “[n]ei”; “noisi”*; “rivois”*.
Ablative - “___-M” Low, or falling pitch “manom”; “einom”; “taedendo”(?).
*Dablative
Whereas, the presence of a “-D” on the end of the surrounding Accusative cases (“mēd” and
“tēd”) suggests a particularly terse ending, almost certainly even held for the time-period of
only a single mora; and whereas the presence of the traditional ‘iota-subscript’ “-I” on the end
of the surrounding Dative cases (“duenoi”, “qoi”, “[n]ei”, and maybe even –as ‘Dablativ-ists’
would argue–“noisi” and “rivois”) suggests a ‘cutsy’-sounding syllable; yet here, the presence of
an “-M” on the end of at least some of the Ablative Case words (“manom”, “einom”, but not
“taedendo”) suggests a noticeably deeper sound. As to its quantity, whether it is elongated into
2 morae, as it would ultimately become in classical Latin (-ā and -ō), or whether the “-M” so
muffled it as to shorten it and ‘cut it off’ (i.e. exactly as happens in the Accusative “-am” and “-
um”) into a single mora, isn’t clear. What does seem to be clear, however, is that there does
seem to be a low, or falling pitch for the Ablative (again, if it’s Ablative), and a high, or rising pitch
for the Dative. (But the far more essential Accusative, as existing in the essential Doer–Done-to
line-of-‘action’ of the sentence, would understandably have no ‘weird’ pitch-altering ‘twang,’ so
its terseness here is not surprising.) In this way, these two oblique and confusable cases could
be audibly distinguished.
Latin Spelling of Greek Aspiration – Another convention to note is that diphthongs seem to be
used to aspirate their preceding consonant:
“-oi-” in “ob-petoit-esthai” / αντι-ποθησεσθαι – As already mentioned, the “-oi-” here
serves the same function as the “-η-,” namely, merely to aspirate the -T- sound, preceding it.
“-ve-” in “Dvenos” – The “-ve-“ serves to aspirate the preceding “D-,” resulting in the
plosive letter “B-.”
“-siai-” in “op(p)etoit esiai” – The first “i” in “-siai-“ serves to aspirate the preceding “s-,”
thereby mimicing the Greek theta, in “sθαι.”
J H S
10
“-ie-” in “reosied”– Again, this could have multiple interpretations, but in at least one of
them, the “-ie-“ serves to aspirate the preceding “s-,” thereby mimicing the Greek theta, in
“ρευθητι” or “ρουθητι.”
However, diphthongs do not always aspirate in this way, but can instead have a variety of effects,
as we see in . . .
“deivos,” (also “rivois”) where the “-ei-”,” instead of aspirating the “d-” (“bivus”), instead
merely resulted later in a macroned “-ī-”: “dīvus.”
J H S
11
ORDER OF DECIPHERMENT
From the above, the reader can probably already start to gather how this translation was figured
out, but just in case other decipherers care about the precise ‘meta-process’, the details are
presented here, as a kind of ‘Appendix’:
The inscription was figured out in this order:
Line 1A ( ‘Someone made me for something.’ );
Line 2A ( ‘Oh God, regarding the sender . . .’ );
Lines 2C and 2B together, ( ‘. . . don’t ______, but may ______.’),
but 2C (‘. . . but may ____.’) first.
Line 1B ( ‘Don’t do something to me.’ - Was so obvious, that it was
hardly paid attention to, and was just decoded as an after-thought.)
Here are charts of the exact order in which each part was deciphered.
Known letters are CAPITALIZED, and unknown ones lowercase.
To get the meaning of a capitalized word, look at the translation, at the very bottom.
Line 1A
Decipherment
Reason
Duenos mēd feked in manom einom duenoi.
Given.
Duenos MĒ FĒCIT IN manom einom duenoi.
Obvious.
Duenos MĒ FĒCIT IN MANŌ EINŌ duenoi.
Ablative, somehow. EINON is
clearly an early possessive adjective,
from εκεινον, which, as the Greek
Accusative, was either an uncle, or
maybe even (as argued here), a
direct ancestor of the Latin Ablative
case. Among possible alternatives,
EIUS probably didn’t exist yet, and
the writer failed to use SUŌ.
BONUS MĒ FĒCIT IN MANŌ EINŌ BONŌ.
The interpretation “A good
man...for good” uses the phrase “in
his hand” better than “A lord...for a
lord” does; it also contrasts better
with “malō” in Line 1B; and it would
make the cup reusable, not just a 1-
time gift.
“A good me made, in hand—his, for good
man [use/intent].”
(Statement of what the artifact was
made for.)
J H S
12
Line 1B
Decipherment
Reason
Nē mēd malō statōd.
Given.
Nē MĒ malō statōd.
Just like “tēd,” in lines 2B and 2C.
NĒ MĒ malō stATŌTE.
“Don’t” + Future Imperative (“-ŌD” = “-ŌTE”).
NĒ MĒ MALŌS DATŌTE.
2 nearly identical alternatives:
“MALŌS DATŌTE” (by mispronunciation,
“give me evil things”), or
“MALŌ STATŌTE” (“establish me with an evil
[use/intent]”)
“Don’t give me evil/profane/base[ liquid]s.”
Guidelines for what liquids may therefore be
put into the artifact.
Line 2A
Decipherment
Reason
Iove sat deivos qoi mēd mitat, . . .
Given.
IOVES–AT–DĪVUS qoi mēd mitat, . . .
Vocative typically begins a sentence.
Here the sense could equally be “O Jove-
quite-divine...” or “O Zeus—but the
divine one...”
IOVES–AT–DĪVUS qoi MĒ MITTAT, . . .
Just like “tēd,” in lines 2B and 2C.
IOVES–AT–DĪVUS qoi MĒ MITTAT, . . .
But an accusative presupposes a verb....
IOVES–AT–DĪVUS CUI MĒ MITTAT, . . .
It is unlikely that God is sending this
dish, so QOI is certainly dative (“cui”),
not nominative.
“[O] –quite–divine, for [the me sends, . . .”
Jove one] who
An invocation.
Lines 2C & 2B, together
Decipherment
Reason
Nei . . . siēd, as(t) . . . __oit āi . . . .
Given.
NĒi . . . SIT , AT . . . __oit āi . . . .
Recognition of the sentence-syntax as a 2-
part Protasis + Apodosis:
“Nē . . . sit , at . . . [optative].”
(N.b. “SIT” here will ultimately turn out to’ve
been probably wrong.)
“Don’t be . . . , but . . . . . . may . . . .”
J H S
13
Line 2C
Decipherment
Reason
. . . AT . . . __oit āi . . . .
Rewritten.
AT tēd noisi o(p)- petoit esiāi pākā riuois.
Given.
AT TĒ noisi o(p)- petoit esiāi pākā riuois.
Just like “mēd” and “tēd,” in lines 1B and
2B.
AT TĒ noisi o(p)- petoit esiāi PLĀCĒ riuois.
An accusative presupposes a verb, either
“petoit” or “pākā”. But the context of
this being in a positive Apodosis calls for a
verb with an equally positive meaning:
“Petoit” is merely neutral, but “pākā” has
the potential to be positive, either as
“pacify” (pācā), “soothe” (pLācā), or
“please” (pLacĒ). All of these mean
vaguely the same.
AT TĒ noisi o(p)- petoit esiAI PLĀCĒ riuois.
“TĒ” with a verb of mental action
(“Please”) signals indirect statement,
suggesting an Infinitive somewhere.
AT TĒ noisi o(p)- petoit-ESTHAI PLĀCĒ riuois.
The infinitive could be a common “esse”,
but the letter-combination suggests a
Greek Passive “-εσθαι” suffix.
AT TĒ noisi OBpetoit-ESTHAI PLĀCĒ riuois.
Passive suggests “ob-” like English “be-
___-ed”.
AT TĒ noisi OBPETOITESTHAI PLĀCĒ riuois.
This is clearly some form of the verb
PETIT, but the context of this artifact as a
rare triple-bowl, indicates a sense of
“sought” for propitiatory purposes. The
infix -OI- connotes Optativeness, or just
an aspirated “-T-” (Compare: “ποθεω”).
AT TĒ noisĪS OBPETOITESTHAI PLĀCĒ riuĪS.
Passive suggests an Ablative of
Means/Agent.
AT TĒ NOSTRĪS OBPETOITESTHAI PLĀCĒ RĪVĪS.
Context of the artifact as a rare triple-
bowl, suggests that it is referring to
libations.
“but that by to be besought may it liba-
you us/our please tions.”
J H S
14
Line 2B
Decipherment
Reason
NĒi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . SIT ,
Rewritten.
NĒi tēd endō cosmis vircō SIT ,
Given.
NĒi tēd-ENDŌ cosmis vircō SIT ,
After elimination of many other
possibilities, recognition that syntax
requires a helping verb, since a main verb
already exists.
NĒi TAEDENDŌ cosmis vircō SIT ,
The context of the negative protasis here
(“Don’t”), calls for a helping-verb with an
equally negative meaning.
NĒI TAEDENDŌ cosmĪ suĪ rcō SIT ,
“TAEDENDŌ”/“tiring” takes a Genitive.
NĒI TAEDENDŌ COSMĪ SUĪ rcō SIT ,
Discovery of the secondary meaning of
“cosmos”, as “appearance”11, and
recognition that it makes sense, in light of
the artifact’s dingy appearance.
NĒ EĪ TAEDENDŌ COSMĪ SUĪ rcō SIT ,
NĒ is notorious for uniting with words
after it, by elision (Recall: e.g, NĒ ALIQUIS
= NĒ QUIS), so the final “i” may belie an
entire word: EĪ.
NĒ EĪ TAEDENDŌ COSMĪ SUĪ rEō SIT ,
Re-consultation of the drawings reveals
an alternative spelling12: Not “rco-” but
“reo-”.
NĒ EĪ TAEDENDŌ COSMĪ SUĪ REOsied ,
Discovery, in the appendix of Valpy’s
“Etymological Dictionary of the Latin
Language”13, of a more general meaning
of the Greek “REO.”
NĒ EĪ TAEDENDŌ COSMĪ SUĪ REOSIET[Ō],
Intermediary form between Future
Imperative (compare to Line 1B “statōd”
as “statōte”), and Greek Imperative-or-
Aorist-Optative.
“ with while of his/its may you(‘ve)
Don’t respect tiring appearance, rush(ed)/
to him/it glide(d) away,
The author thanks readers for their interest,
and would appreciate any recommendations on LinkedIn.
11
See meaning II. of “κόσμος” as "ornament, decoration," in Liddell and Scott.
12
Sandys, p. 733, plate 108.
13
See entry under “retro,” in Valpy, 541.
J H S
15
BIBLIOGRAPHY
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academia.edu/4957237/Reklameiamben_aus_Roms_Königszeit. Accessed May 19, 2020.
Gordon, Arthur E. “Notes on the Duenos-Vase Inscription in Berlin.” California Studies in
Classical Antiquity. University of California Press, vol. 8, 1975, pp. 57-58.
www.jstor.org/stable/25010682. Accessed May 18, 2020.
Liddell, Henry George and Robert Scott. “ῥέω.” A Greek-English Lexicon. Clarendon Press,
Oxford, 1940. www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.04.0057%3
Aalphabetic+letter%3D*r%3Aentry+group%3D6%3Aentry%3Dr%28e%2Fw. Accessed May 18,
2020.
Sandys, John Edwin, editor. "Epigraphy." A Companion to Latin Studies. Cambridge University
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Accessed May 18, 2020, p. 733.
Valpy, Francis Edward Jackson. “Appendix of The Most Dubious Derivations.” Etymological
Dictionary of the Latin Language. London, 1828. books.google.com/books?id=m2QSAAAA
IAAJ&pg=PA541. Accessed May 14, 2020.
Vine, Brent. “A Note on the Duenos Inscription.” UCLA Indo-European Studies, 1999, section
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