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quality much above his own; not daring there- | Yet, if my love 's my crime, I must confess,
fore to court her openly, he found this device Great is my guilt, but never shall be less.
to obtain her: he writes, upon the fairest apple Oh that I thus might ever guilty prove,
that could be procured, a couple of verses to

In finding out new paths to reach thy love! this effect:

A thousand ways to that steep mountain lead,

Though hard to find, and difficult to tread. “ I swear, by chaste Diana, I will be

All these will I find out, and break through all, In sacred wedlock ever join'd to thee;" For which, my flames compar'd, the danger's small. and throws it at the feet of the young lady; The gods alone know what the end will be, she, suspecting not the deceit, takes it up and One way or other you must yield to me.

Yet, if we mortals any thing foresee, reads it, and therein promises herself in marriage to Acontius; there being a law there in And snatch by force what you my prayers deny:

If all my arts should fail, to arms I'll fly, force, that whatever any person should swear

I all those heroes mighty acts applaud, in the temple of Diana of Delos, should stand

Who first have led me this illustrious road. good, and be inviolably observed: but her father, not knowing what had past, and having I too but hold, death the reward will be;

Death be it then! not long after promised

her to another

, just for to lose you is more than death to me. as the solemnities of marriage were to be performed, she was taken with a sudden and vio- of tedious courtship, and of dull delay.

Were you less fair, I'd use the vulgar way lent fever, which Acontius endeavours to persuade her was sent from Diana, as a punish- And something wondrous as itself inspires;

But thy bright form kindles more eager fires, ment of the breach of the vow made in her Those eyes that all the heavenly lights out-shine, presence. And this

, with the rest of the argu- (Which, oh! may'st thou behold and love in ments which on such occasion would occur to a

mine!) lover, is the subject of the following epistle.

Those snowy arms, which on my neck should fall,

If you the vows you made regard at all, Read boldly this; here you shall swear no more,

That modest sweetness and becoming grace, For that's enough which you have sworn before.

That paints with living red your blushing face, Read it; so may that violent disease,

Those feet, with which they only can compare, Which th y dear body, but my soul doth seize, That through the silver food bright Thetis bear: Foget its too-long practis'd cruelty,

Do all conspire my madness to excite, And health to you restore, and you to me.

With all the rest that is deny'd to sight:
Why do you blush? for blush you do, I fear, Which could I praise, alike I then were blest,
As when you first did in the temple swear: And all the storms of my vex'd soul at rest:
Truth to your plighted faith is all 1 claim,

No wonder then, if, with such beauty fir'd,
And truth can never be the cause of shame: I of your love the sacred pledge desir'd.
Shame lives with Guilt; but you your virtue prove Rage now, and be as angry as you will,
In favouring mine, for mine's a husband's love, Your very frowns all others' smiles excel;
Ah! to yourself those binding words repeat

But give me leave that anger to appease,
That once your wishing eyes ev'n longd to meet, By my submission that my love did raise,
When th’apple brought them dancing to your feet.

Your pardon prostrate at your feet I'll crave, There you will find the solemn vow you made,

The humble posture of your guilty slave. Which if your health or mine can aught persuade, With falling tears your fiery rage I'll cool, You to perform should rather mindful be,

And lay the rising tempest of your soul, Than great Diana to revenge on thee.

Why in my absence are you thus severe? My fears for you increase with my desire,

Summond at your tribunal to appear And Hope blows that already raging fire;

for all my crimes, I'd gladiy suffer there: Por hope you gave, nor can you this deny, With pride whatever you infliet receive, For the great goddess of the fane was by;

And love the wounds those hands vouchsafe to give. She was, and heard, and from her ballow'd shrine Your fetters too but they, alas! are vain, A sudden kind auspicious light did shine:

For Love has bound me, and I hug my chain: Her statue seem'd to nod its awful head,

Your hardest laws with patience I'll obey, And give its glad consent to what you said: Till you yourself at last relent, and say, Now, if you please, accuse my prosperous cheat, When all my sufferings you with pity see, Yet still confess 'twas Love that taught me it: “ He that can love so well, is worthy me!” In that deceit what did I else design

But, if all this should unsuccessful prove, But with your own consent to make you mine? Diana claims for me your promis'd love. What you my crime, I call my innocence, O may my fears be false! yet she delights Since loving you has been my sole offence. In just revenge of her abused rites. Nor Nature gave me, nor has practice taught, I dread to hide, what yet to speak I dread, The nets with which young virgins' hearts are Lest you should think that for myself I plead. You, my accuser, taught me to deceive, [caught. Yet out it must:--Tis this, 'tis surely this, And Love, with you, did his assistance give; That is the fuel to your hot disease: For Love stood by, and smiling bad me write When waiting Hymen at your porch attends, The cunning words he did himself indite:

Her fatal messenger the goddess sends; Again, you see, I write by his command,

And when you would to his kiud call consent, He guides my pen, and rules my willing hand, This fever does your perjury prevent. Again such kind, such loving words I send, Forbear, forbear, thus to provoke her rage, As makes me fear that I again offend:

Which you so easily may yet assuage:

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Forbear to make that lovely charming face Why let you still your pious parents weep,
The prey to every envious disease:

Whom you in ignorance of your promise keep? Preserve those looks to be enjoy'd by me,

Oh! to your mother all our story tell, Which none should ever but with wonder see: And the whole progress of our love reveal: Let that fresh colour to your cheeks return, Tell her how first, at great Diana's shrine, Whose glowing flame did all beholders burn: I fix'd my eyes, my wondering eyes, on thine: But let on him, th' unhappy cause of all

How like the statues there I stood amaz'd, The ills that from Diana's anger fall,

Whilst on thy face intemperately I gaz'd. No greater torments light than those I feel,

She will herself, when you my tale repeat, When you, my dearest, tenderest part, are ill. Smile, and approve the amorous deceit. For, oh! with what dire tortures am I rack'd, “Marry,” she'll say, “whom Heaven commends to Whom different griefs successively distract! He, who has pleas'd Diana, pleases me.” (thee, Sometimes my grief from this does higher grow, But should she ask from what descent I came, To think that I have caus'd so much to you. My country, and my parents, and my name; Then, great Diana's witness, how I pray

Tell her, that none of these deserve my shame. That all our crimes on me alone she'd lay! Had you not sworn, you such a one might choose; Sometimes to your lov'd doors disguis'd I come, But, were he worse, now sworn, you can't refuse. And all around them up and down I roam; This in my dreams Diana bade me write, Till I your woman coming from you spy,

And when I wak’d, sent Cupid to indite. With looks dejected, and a weeping eye.

Obey them both, for one has wounded me, With silent steps, like some sad ghost, I steal Which wound if you with eyes of pity see, Close up to her, and urge her to reveal

She too will soon relent that wounded thee. More than new questions suffer her to tell: Then to our joys with eager haste we'll move, How you had slept, what diet you had us’d? As full of beauty you, as I of love: And oft the vain physician's art accus'd.

To the great temple we'll in triumph go, He every hour (oh, were I blest as he!)

And with our offerings at the altar bow. Does all the turns of your distemper see.

A golden image there I'll consecrate,
Why sit not I by your bed-side all day,

Of the false apple's innocent deceit;
My mournful head in your warm bosom lay, And write below the happy verse that came
Till with my tears the inward fires decay?

The messenger of my successful flame :
Why press not I your melting hand in mine, “ Let all the world this from Acontius know,
And from your pulse of my own health divine? Cydippe has been faithful to her vow."
But, oh! ihese wishes all are vain; and he More I could write! but, since thy illness reigns,
Whom most I fear, may now sit close by thee, And racks thy tender limbs with sharpest pains,
Forgetful as thou art of Heaven and me.

My pen falls down for fear, lest this might be,
He that lov'd hand doth press, and oft doth feign Although for me too little, yet too much for thee.
Some new excuse to feel thy beating vein.
Then his bold hand up to your arm doth slide,
And in your panting breast itself does hide;
Kisses sometimes he snatches too from thee,

For his officious care too great a fee.
Robber, who gave thee leave, to taste that lip,

And the ripe harvest of my kisses reap?'
For they are mine, so is that bosom too,

The poet in this satire first brings in Crispinus, Which, false as 'tis, shall never harbour you:

whom he had a lash at in his first satire, and Take, take away those thy adulterous hands,

whom he promises here not to be forgetful of For know, another lord that breast commands.

for the future. He exposes his monstrous pro'Tis true, her father promis'd ber to thee,

digality and luxury, in giving the price of an

estate for a barbel: and from thence takes ocBut Heaven and she first gave herself to me: And you in justice therefore should decline

casion to introduce the principal subject and Your claim to that which is already mine.

true design of this satire, which is grounded This is the man, Cydippe, that excites

upon a ridiculous story of a turbot presented Diana's rage, to vindicate her rites.

to Domitian, of so vast a bigness, that all the Command him then not to approach thy door;

emperor's scullery had not a dish large enough This done, the danger of your death is o'er.

to hold it: upon which the senate in all haste For fear not, beauteous maid, but keep thy vow,

is summoned, to consult, in this exigency, what Which great Diana heard, and did allow.

is fittest to be done. The poet gives us a parAnd she who took it, will thy health restore,

ticular of the senators' names, their distinct And be propitious as she was before.

characters, and speeches, and advice; and, after

much and wise consultation, an expedient being Tis not the steam of a slain heifer's blood That can allay the anger of a god:

found out and agreed upon, he dismisses the 'Tis-truth, and justice to your vows, appease

senate, and concludes the satire.
Their angry deities; and without these
No slaughter'd beast their fury can divert, Once more Crispinus call’d upon the stage
For that's a sacrifice without a heart.

(Nor shall once more suffice) provokes my rage: Some, bitter potions patiently endure,

A monster, to whom every vice lays claim, And kiss the wounding lance that works their Without one virtue to redeem his fame.

Feeble and sick, yet strong in lust alone, You bave no need these cruel cures to feel, The rank adulterer preys on all the town, Shun being perjur'd only, and be well.

All but the widows' nauseous charms go down.


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What matter then how stately is the arch (march? | Where Venus' shrine does fair Ancona grace,
Where his tir'd mules slow with their burthen A turbot taken, of prodigious space,
What matter then how thick and long the shade Fill'd the extended net, not less than those
Through which he is by sweating slaves convey'd ? That dull Mæotis does with ice enclose;
How many acres near the city walls

Till, conquer'd by the Sun's prevailing ray,
Or new-built palaces, his own he calls ?

It opens to the Pontic sea their way; No ill man's happy; least of all is he

And throws them out unwieldy with their growth, Whose study 'tis to corrupt chastity;

Fat with long case, and a whole winter's sloth: Th' incestuous brute, who the veil'd vestal maid The wise commander of the boat and lines, But lately to his impious bed betray'd,

For our high priest 8 the stately prey designs; Who for his crime, if laws their course might have, For who that lordly fish durst sell or buy, Ought to descend alive into the grave'.

So many spies and court-informers nigh? But now of slighter faults; and yet the same No shore but of this vermin swarms does bear, By others done, the ceusor's justice claim.

Searchers of mud and sea-weed! that would swear
For what good men ignoble count and base, The fish had long in Cæsar's ponds been fed,
Is virtue here, and does Crispinus grace:

And from its lord undutifully fled,
In this he's safe, whate'er we write of him, So, justly ought to be again restord:
The person is more odious than the crime. Nay, if you credit sage Palphurius'9 word,
And so all satire's lost. The lavish slave

Or dare rely on Armillatus'9 skill,
Six thousand pieces ? for a barbel gave:

Whatever fish the vulgar fry excel A sesterce for each pound it weigh’d, as they Belong to Cæsar, wheresoe'er they swim, Gave out, that hear great things, but greater say. By their own worth confiscated to him. If, by this bribe well plac'd, he would ensnare The boatman then shall a wise present make, Some sapless usurer that wants an heir,

And give the fish before the seizers take. Or if this present the sly courtier meant

Now sickly Autumn to dry frosts gave way, Should to some punk of quality be sent,

Cold Winter rag'd, and fresh preserv'd the prey; That in her easy chair in state does ride, Yet with such haste the busy fishes flew, The glasses all drawn up on every side,

As if with a hot south-wind corruption blew: I'd praise his cunning; but expect not this, And now he reach'd the lake, where what remains Por his own gut he bought the stately fish. Of Alba still her ancient sites retains, Now even Apicius3 frugal seems, and poor, Still worships Vesta, though an humbler way, Outvy'd in luxury unknown before.

Nor lets the hallow'd Trojan fire decay. [sort, Gave you, Crispinus, you this mighty sum; The wondering crowd, that to strange sights reYou that, for want of other rags, did come And choak'd a while his passage to the court, In your own country paper wrapp'd to Rome? At length gives way; ope flies the palace-gate, Do scales and fins bear price to this excess? The turbot enters in, without the fathers' wait; You might have bought the fishermen for less. The boatmen straight does to Atrides press, For less some provinces whole acres sell!

And thus presents his fish, and his address: Nay, in Apulia“, if you bargain well,

“ Accept, dread sir, this tribute from the main, A manor would cost less than such a meal. Too great for private kitchens to contai...

What think we then of this luxurious lord 5 ? To your glad genius sacrifice this day,
What banquets loaded that imperial board ? Let common meats respectfully give way.
When, in one dish, that, taken from the rest, Haste to unload your stomachs, to receive
His constant table would have hardly miss'd, This turbot, that for you did only live.
So many sesterces were swallow'd down,

So long preserv'd to be imperial food,
To stuff oue scarlet-coated court buffoon,

Glad of the net, and to be taken proud.” Whom Rome of all her knights now chiefest greets, How fulsome this! how gross! yet this takes From crying stinking fish about her streets.

well, Begin, Calliope, but not to sing:

And the vain prince with empty pride does swell. Plain, honest truth we for our subject bring. Nothing so monstrous can be said'or feign'd, · Help then, ye young Pierian maids, to tell But with belief and joy is entertain’d, A downright narrative of what befell,

When to his face the worthless wretch is prais'd, Afford me willingly your sacred aids,

Whom vile court-Aattery to a god has rais'd. Me that have call'd you young, me that have styl'd But oh, hard fate! the palace stores no dish you maids.

Afford, capacious of the mighty fish. When he, with whom the Flavian race decay'd6, To sage debate are summond all the peers, The groaning world with iron sceptre sway'd, His trusty and much-hated counsellors, When a bald Nero 7 reign'd, and servile Rome In whose pale looks that ghastly terrour sat, obey'd,

That haunts the dangerous friendships of the great.

The loud Liburnian", that the senate callid, i Crispinus had seduced a vesial virgin; and, “ Run, run; he 's set, he's set!” no sooner bawld, by the law of Numa, should have been buried alive. But, with his robe snatcht up ju haste, does come 2 Roman sestertii.

Pegasus", bailiff of affrighted Rome, 3 Famous for gluttony, even to a proverb. See Dr. King's Art of Cookery.

8 A title often assumed by the emperors. 4 Where land was remarkably cheap.

9 Both of consular degree, yet spies and ins Domitian.

formers. 6 Domitian was the last and worst of that family, 10 The senate, or patres conscripti.

* Domitian, from his cruelty, was called a se- 11 The Roman criers wereusually of thiscountry. cond Nero; and, from his baldness, Calvus, 12 A learned lawyer, and prefect of Rome.

What more were prefects then? The best he was, Cunning Vejento next, and by his side
And faithfullest expounder of the laws.

Bloody Catullus leaning on his guide.
Ye' in ill times thought all things manag'd best, Decrepit, yet a furious lover he,
When Justice exercis'd her sword the least. And deeply smit with charms he could not see.

Old Crispus '3 next, pleasant thoughold, appears, A monster, that ev'n this worst age outvies, His wit nor humour yielding to his years. Conspicuous, and above the common size. His temper mild, good-nature join'd with sense, A blind base fatterer, from some bridge or gate', And manners charming as his eloquence.

Rais'd to a murdering minister of state; Who fitter for a useful friend than he,

Deserving still to beg upon the road, To tne great ruler of the earth and sea,

And bless each passing waggon and its load. If, as his thoughts were just, his tongue were free? None more admir'd the fish; he in its praise If it were safe to vent his generous mind

With zeal his voice, with zeal his hands did raise; To Rome's dire plague, and terrour of mankind; But to the left all his fine things did say, If cruel Power could softening counsel bear, Whilst on his right the unseen turbot lay. But what's so tender as a tyrant's ear;

So he the fam'd Cilician fencer prais'd, With whom whoever, though a favourite, spake, And at each hit witb wonder seem'd amaz'd: At every sentence set his life at stake,

So did the scenes and stage machines admire, Though the discourse were of so weightier things, And boys that flew through canvass clouds in wire. 'Than sultry summers, or upbealthful springs? Nor came Vejento short; "but, as inspir'd This well he knew, and therefore never try'd, By thee, Bellona, by thy fury fird, With his weak arms, to stem the stronger tide. Turns prophet. “ See the mighty omen, see," Nor did all Rome, grown spiritless, supply He cries, “ of some illustrious victory! A man that for bold truth durst bravely die. Some captive king thee his new lord shall own; So, safe by wise complying silence, he

Or from his British chariot headlong thrown Ev'n in that court did fourscore summers see. The proud Arviragus come tumbling down!

Next him Acilius, though his age the same, The monster's foreign. Mark the pointed spears With eager haste to the grand council came: That from thy hand on his pierc'd back he wears!” With him a youth, unworthy of the fate

Who nobler could, or plainer things presage? That did too near his growing virtues wait, Yet one thing 'scap'd him, the prophetic rage Urg'd by the tyrant's envy, fear, or hate.

Show'd not the turbot's country, nor its age. (But'tis long since old age began to be

At length by Cæsar the grand question's put: in noble blood no less than prodigy,

“My lords, your judgement; shall the fish be cut?" Whence 'tis I'd rather be of giants' birth', “ Far be it, far from us," Montanus cries; A pigmy brother to those sons of Earth.)

“ Let's not dishonour thus the noble prize! Unhappy youth! whom from his destin'd end, A pot of finest earth, tbin, deep, and wide, No well-dissembled madness could defend, Some skilful quick Prometheus must provide. When naked in the Alban theatre,

Clay and the forming wheel prepare with speed. In Libyan bears he fixt his hunting spear.

But, Cæsar, be it from henceforth decreed, Who sees not now through the lord's thin dis- That potters on the royal progress wait, guise,

T'assist in these emergencies of state." That long seem'd fool, to prove at last more wise? This counsel pleas'd; nor could it fail to take, That stale court trick is now too open laid: So fit, so worthy of the man that spake. Who now admires the part old Brutus play'd's? The old court riots he remember'd well; Those honest times might swallow this pretence,

Could tales of Nero's midnight suppers tell, When the king's beard was deeper than his sense. When Falern wines the labouring lungs did fire,

Next Rubrius came, though not of noble race, And to new dainties kindled false desire. With equal marks of terrour in his face.

In arts of eating, none more early train'd, Pale with the gnawing guilt and inward shame Nope in my time bad equal skill attain'd. Of an old crime, that is not fit to name.

He, whether Circe's rock his oysters bore, Worse, yet in scandal taking more delight, Or Lucrine lake, or the Rutupian shore, Than the vile pathic 6 that durst satire write. Knew at first taste, nay at first sight could tell Montanus' belly next, advancing slow

A crab or lobster's country by its shell. Before the sweating senator, did go.

They rise; and straight all, with respectful awe, Crispinus after, but much sweeter comes, At the word given, obsequiously withdraw, Scented with costly oils and eastern gums, Whom, full of eager haste, surprise, and fear, More than would serve two funerals for perfumes. Our mighty prince had summond to appear; Then Pompey, none more skill'd in the court- As if some news he'd of the Catti tell,

Or that the fierce Sicambrians did rebel : Of cutting throats with a soft whisper, came. As if expresses from all parts had come

Next Fuscus 17, he who many a peaceful day With fresh alarms threatening the fate of Rome. For Dacian vultures was reserv'd a prey,

What folly this! But, oh! that all the rest Till, having study'd war enough at home,

Of his dire reign had thus been spent in jest; He led abroad th' unhappy arms of Rome. And all that time such trifles had employ'd

In which so many nobles he destroy'd; 13 Who made the jest on Domitian's killing flies. He safe, they unreveng'd, to the disgrace 14 Of an obscure and unknown family.

Of the surviving, tame, patrician race! 15 In counterfeiting madness.

But, when he dreadful to the rabble grew, 16 Nero, who charged his own crimes on Quin- Him, whom so many lords had slain, they slew. tiapos. 17 Conelius Fuscus, who was slain in Dacia.

18 The common stands for beggars.

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No: thanks, kind Heaven, that hast my soul em

ploy'd, DAMON.

With my great sex's useful virtue, pride: Tell me, Alexis, whence these sorrows grow? That generous pride, that noble just disdain, From what hid spring do these salt torrents flow? That scorns the slave that would presume to reign. Why hangs the head of my afficted swain;

Let the raw amorous scribbler of the times
Like bending lilies over-charg'd with rain? Call me his Cælia in insipid rhymes;

I hate and scorn you all, proud that I am

Trevenge my sex's injuries on man.
Ah, Damon, if what you already see

Compard to all the plagues in marriage dwell, Can move thy gentle breast to pity me;

It were preferment to lead apes in Hell.
How would thy sighs with mine in concert join,
How would thy tears swell up the tide of mine,
Couldst thou but see (but, oh, no light is there,
But blackest clouds of darkness and despair!)
Conld'st thou but see the torments that within

Lie deeply lodg'd, and view the horrid scene!
View all the wounds, and every fatal dart

That sticks and rankles in my bleeding heart! VOTE OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
No more, ye swains, Love's harmless anger fear,
For he has empty'd all bis quiver bere.

Have we for this serv'd full nine hard campaigns? Nor thou, kind Damon, ask me why I grieve,

Is this the recompense for all our pains ? But rather wonder, wonder that I live.

Have we to the remotest parts been sent,

Bravely expos’d our lives, and fortunes spent, DAMON,

To be undone at last by parliament? Unhappy youth! too well, alas! I know

Must colonels and corporals now be equal made, The pangs despairing lovers undergo !

And flaming sword turn'd pruning knife and [Imperfect.]

T-bs-,, and thousands more,
Must now return to what they were before.
No more in glittering coaches shall they ride,

No more the feathers show the coxcombs' pride.

For thee, poor

-! my Muse does kindly weep,

To see disbanded colonels grown so cheap. When first the young Alexis saw

So younger brothers, with fat jointures fed, Celia to all the plain give law,

Go despicable, once their widows dead.
The haughty Cælia, in whose face

No ship, by tempest from her anchor torn,
Love dwelt with fear, and pride with grace; Is half so lost a thing, and so forlorn.
When every swain he saw submit

On every stall, in every broker's shop,
To her commanding eyes and wit,

Hang up the plumes of the dismantled fop; How could th' ambitious youth aspire

Trophies like these we read not of in story, To perish by a nobler fire?

By other ways the Romans got their glory. With all the power of verse he strove

But in this, as in all things, there's a doom, The lovely shepherdess to move:

Some die i'th' field, and others starve at home. Verse, in which the gods delight, That makes nymphs love, and heroes fight; Verse, that once ruld all the plain, Verse, the wishes of a swain. How oft bas Thyrsis' pipe prevail'd, Where Egon's flocks and herds have fail'd?

ROMAN CATHOLIC UPON MARRIAGE. Fair Amaryllis, was thy mind Ever to Damon's wealth inclin'd;

Censure and penances, excommunication, Whilst Lycidas's gentle breast,

Are bug-bear words to fright a bigot nation; With love, and with a Muse possest,

But 'tis the Church's more substantial curse, Breath'd forth in verse his soft desire,

To damn us all for better and for worse. Kinilling in thee his gentle fire ?

Falsely your church seven sacraments does frame, [Imperfect.]

Penance and matrimony are the same,


MISTRESS of all my senses can invite,
Free as the air, and unconfin'd as light;
Puern of a thousand slaves, that fawn and bow,
And, with submissive fear, my power allow,
Should I exchange this noble state of life
To gain the vile detested name of Wife;
Should I my native liberty betray,
Call him my lord, who at my foutstool lay?

And yet be fears to use them, and be free;
Yet some have ventur'd, and why should not all?
Let villains, perjur'd, envious, and malicious,
The wretched miser and the midnight murderer;
Betrayers of their country, or their friend,
(And every guilty breast) fear endless torment,
Blue lakes of brimstoue, unextinguish'd fires,
Scorpions and whips, and all that guilt deserves;

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