Puslapio vaizdai
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Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores,

And make a sop of all this solid globe:

Strength should be lord of imbecility,

And the rude son should strike his father dead:
Force should be right: or, rather, right and wrong
(Between whose endless jar justice resides,)
Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
Then every thing includes itself in power,
Power into will, will into appetite;

And appetite, an universal wolf,

So doubly seconded with will and power,
Must make perforce an universal prey,
And, last, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,
This chaos, when degree is suffocate,
Follows the choking.

And this neglection of degree it is,
That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose
It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd
By him one step below; he, by the next;
That next, by him beneath: so every step,
Exampled by the first pace that is sick
Of his superior, grows to an envious fever
Of pale and bloodless emulation:

And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length,
Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.
Nest. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd
The fever whereof all our power is sick.

Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, What is the remedy?

Ulyss. The great Achilles,--whom opinion

crowns

The sinew and the forehand of our host,-
Having his ear full of his airy fame,

Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent

Lies mocking our designs: With him, Patroclus,

Upon a lazy bed the livelong day

Breaks scurril jests;

And with ridiculous and awkward action

(Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,)
He pageants2 us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless deputation he puts on;
And, like a strutting player, whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
'Twixt his stretch'd footing, and the scaffoldage, 4-
Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wresteds seeming

He acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks,
'Tis like a chime a mending; with terms unsquar'd,6
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd,
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff,
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling,
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;
Cries-Excellent!-'tis Agamemnon just.-
Now play me Nestor;-hem, and stroke thy beard,
As he, being 'drest to some oration.

That's done;-as near as the extremest ends
Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his wife:
Yet good Achilles still cries, Excellent!
'Tis Nestor right! Now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night alarm.
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth; to cough, and spit,
And with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget,
Shake in and out the rivet:-and at this sport,
Sir Valour dies; cries, O!-enough, Patroclus;-
Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all
In pleasure of my spleen. And in this fashion,
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,

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Excitements to the field, or speech for truce,
Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.
Nest. And in the imitation of these twain
(Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice,) many are infect.
Ajax is grown self-will'd; and bears his head
In such a rein, in full as proud a place
As broad Achilles: keeps his tent like him;
Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war,
Bold as an oracle: and sets Thersites

(A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint,)
To match us in comparisons with dirt;
To weaken and discredit our exposure,
How rank soever rounded in with danger.

Ulyss. They tax our policy, and call it cowardice;
Count wisdom as no member of the war;
Forestall prescíence, and esteem no act
But that of hand: the still and mental parts,-
That do contrive how many hands shall strike,
When fitness calls them on; and know, by measure
Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight,-
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity:

They call this-bed-work, mappery, closet-war:
So that the ram, that batters down the wall,
For the great swing and rudeness of his poize,
They place before his hand that made the engine;
Or those, that with the fineness of their souls
By reason guide his execution.

Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse
Makes many Thetis' sons.
[Trumpet sounds.
Agam.

What trumpet? look, Menelaus.

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I ask, that I might waken reverence, And bid the cheek be ready with a blush Modest as morning when she coldly eyes The youthful Phœbus:

How?

Which is that god in office, guiding men?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?
Agam. This Trojan scorns us; or the men of Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.

Æne. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd, As bending angels; that's their fame in peace: But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove's accord,

Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Æneas,
Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips!
The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth:
But what the repining enemy commends,

That breath fame follows; that praise, sole pure,

transcends.

Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Æneas? Æne. Ay, Greek, that is my name.

(3) Supreme. (4) The galleries of the theatre. (5) Beyond the truth. (6) Unadapted.

Agam.

What's your affair, I pray you? | Be you my time to bring it to some shape.

Æne. Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.

Nest. What is't?

Agam. He hears nought privately, that comes

Ulyss. This 'tis :

from Trov.

Æne. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him:

Blunt wedges rive hard knots: The seeded pride That hath to this maturity blown up

I bring a trumpet to awake his ear;

Agam.

Speak frankly1 as the wind;

Well, and how?

To set his sense on the attentive bent,

And then to speak.

It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour :

That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,

He tells thee so himself.

Æne.

Trumpet, blow loud,

Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;-
And every Greek of mettle, let him know,
What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud.
[Trumpet sounds.

We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A prince call'd Hector (Priam is his father,)
Who in this dull and long-continued truce
Is rusty grown; he bade me take a trumpet,
And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords!
If there be one, among the fair'st of Greece,
That holds his honour higher than his ease;
That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril;
That knows his valour, and knows not his fear;
That loves his mistress more than in confession
(With truant vows to her own lips he loves,)
And dare avow her beauty and her worth,
In other arms than hers, to him this challenge.
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
Shall make it good, or do his best to do it,
He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer,
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms;
And will to-morrow with his trumpet call,
Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy,
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love:
If any come, Hector shall honour him;
If none, he'll say in Troy, when he retires,
The Grecian dames are sun-burn'd, and not worth
The splinter of a lance. Even so much.

Agam. This shall be told our lovers, lord Æneas;
If none of them have soul in such a kind,
We left them all at home: But we are soldiers;
And may that soldier a mere recreant prove,
That means not, hath not, or is not in love!
If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.

Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man When Hector's grandsire suck'd: he is old now ; But, if there be not in our Grecian host One noble man, that hath one spark of fire To answer for his love, Tell him from me,I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver, And in my vantbrace2 put this wither'd brawn; And, meeting him, will tell him, That my lady Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste As may be in the world: His youth in flood, I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood. Æne. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth! Ulyss. Amen.

In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd, Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, To overbulk us all.

Nest.

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Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
Pointing on him.

Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think you ?
Yes,

Nest.

It is most meet; Whom may you else oppose,
That can from Hector bring those honours off,
If not Achilles? Though't be a sportful combat,
Yet in the trial much opinion dwells;

For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute
With their fin'st palate: And trust to me, Ulysses,
Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd
In this wild action for the success,
Although particular, shall give a scantling4
Of good or bad unto the general;
And in such indexes, although small pricks5
To their subséquent volumes, there is seen
The baby figure of the giant mass

Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd,
He, that meets Hector, issues from our choice:
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls,
Makes merit her election; and doth boil,
As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd
Out of our virtues; Who miscarrying,
What heart receives from hence a conquering

part,

To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working, than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.

Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech;-
Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares,
And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not,
The lustre of the better shall exceed,
By showing the worse first. Do not consent,
That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
For both our honour and our shame, in this,
Are dogg'd with two strange followers.

Nest. I see them not with my old eyes; what

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[Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestor. Should he 'scape Hector fair: if he were foil'd,

Were he not proud, we all should share with him: But he already is too insolent;

And we were better parch in Afric sun,

Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,

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The sort to fight with Hector: Among ourselves,||
Give him allowance for the better man,
For that will physic the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applause; and make him fall
His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
We'll dress him up in voices: If he fail,

/ Yet go we under our opinion? still

That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project's life this shape of sense assumes,-
Ajax, employ'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes.
Nest. Ulysses,

Now I begin to relish thy advice;
And I will give a taste of it forthwith

To Agamemnon: go we to him straight.

Two curs shall tame each other; Pride alone

Must tarre3 the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone.

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

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Ajax. Dog,

Ther. Then would come some matter from him; I see none now.

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel then. [Strikes him.

Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!

Ajax. Speak then, thou unsalted leaven, speak: I will beat thee into handsomeness.

Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness: but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration, than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? a red murrain o'thy jade's tricks!

Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation. Ther. Dost thou think, I have no sense, thou

strikest me thus?

Ajax. The proclamation,

Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch. Ther. I would, thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.

Ajaz. I say, the proclamation,

Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full of envy at his greatness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that thou barkest at him.

Ajax. Mistress Thersites!

Ther. Thou shouldest strike him.
Ajax. Cobloaf!

Ther. He would punt thee into shivers with his

fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit.

Ajax. You whoreson cur!

Ther. Do, do.

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[Beating him.

(3) Provoke.

(4) Pound.

(5) Ass, a cant term for a foolish fellow.

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How now, Thersites? what's the matter, man?

Ther. You see him there, do you?

Açhil. Ay; what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, look upon him.

Achil. So I do; What's the matter?
Ther. Nay, but regard him well.

Achil. Well, why I do so.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him: for,

whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.
Achil. I know that, fool.

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed his brain, more than he has beat my bones: I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles, Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in his head, -I'll tell you what I say of him.

Achil. What?

Ther. I say, this Ajax

[Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interposes.

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

Ther. Has not so much wit

Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight. Achil. Peace, fool!

Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not: he there; that he; look you there. Ajax. O thou damned cur! I shall-Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's?

Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame it. Patr. Good words, Thersites.

Achil. What's the quarrel?

Ajax. I bade the vile owl, go learn me the tenor of the proclamation, and he rails upon me. Ther. I serve thee not.

Ajax. Well, go to, go to.

Ther. I serve here voluntary.8

Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.

T'her. Even so?-a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains; a' were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.

Achil. What, with me too, Thersites?

Ther. There's Ulysses, and old Nestor,-whose

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thou afterwards.

Patr. No more words, Thersites; peace.

Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons,
Because your speech hath none, that tells him so?
Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother
priest,

You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your

reasons:

You know, an enemy intends you harm;
You know, a sword employ'd is perilous,
And reason flies the object of all harm:

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach1 Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds

bids me, shall I?

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I come any more to your tents; I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. [Exit.

Patr. A good riddance.

Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all
our host:

That Hector, by the first hour of the sun,
Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy,
To-morrow morning call some knight to arms,
That hath a stomach; and such a one, that dare
Maintain-I know not what; 'tis trash: Farewell.
Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him?
Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery; otherwise,
He knew his man.

Ajax. O, meaning you :-I'll go learn more of it.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Troy. A room in Priam's palace. Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, and Helenus.

A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels;
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
Or like a star dis-orb'd?-Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let's shut our gates, and sleep: Manhood and

honour

Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their
thoughts
With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect3
Make livers pale, and lustihood deject.

Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost
The holding.

Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued?
Hect. But value dwells not in particular will;
It holds his estimate and dignity
As well wherein 'tis precious of itself
As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry,
To make the service greater than the god;
And the will dotes, that is attributive
To what infectiously itself affects,
Without some image of the affected merit.

Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks; Deliver Helen, and all damage else

As honour, loss of time, travel, expense,

Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will;
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of will and judgment: How may I avoid,
Although my will distaste what it elected,

Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is con- The wife I chose? there can be no evasion

sum'd

To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour:
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant,

Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks

viands

than I,

In hot digestion of this cormorant war,

Shall be struck of: -Hector, what say you to't? When we have soil'd them; nor the remainder

As far as toucheth my particular, yet,

Dread Priam,

There is no lady of more softer bowels,
More spungy to suck in the sense of fear,

More ready to cry out-Who knows what follows?
Than Hector is: The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go:
Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,2
Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean, of ours :
If we have lost so many tenths of ours,
To guard a thing not ours; not worth to us,
Had it our name, the value of one ten;
What merit's in that reason, which denies
The yielding of her up?

Tro.

We do not throw in unrespective sieve,s
Because we now are full. It was thought meet,
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks:
Your breath with full consent bellied his sails;
The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce,
And did him service: he touch'd the ports desir'd;
And, for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held cap-

tive,

He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and
freshness

Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes pale the morning.
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt :
Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl,
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants.
If you'll avouch, 'twas wisdom Paris went
(As you must needs, for you all cry'd-Go, go,)
If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize
(As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands,
And cry'd-Inestimable!) why do you now
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate;

Fie, fie, my brother!

Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,

So great as our dread father, in a scale

Of common ounces? will you with counters sum And do a deed that fortune never did,

The past-proportion of his infinite?

Beggar the estimation which you priz'd

And buckle-in a waist most fathomless,

With spans and inches so diminutive

As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame!

Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at

reasons,

You are so empty of them.

Should not our father

Richer than sea and land? O theft most base;
That we have stolen what we do fear to keep!
But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen,
That in their country did them that disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native place!
Cas. [Within.] Cry, Trojans, cry!

Pri.

What noise? what shriek is this?

(1) Bitch, hound.
(3) Caution,

(2) Tenths.

(4) Shrink, or fly off.

(5) Basket.

(6) Priam's sister, Hesione.

Tro. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice. Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well,

Cas. [Within.] Cry, Trojans! Hect. It is Cassandra.

The world's large spaces cannot parallel.

Enter Cassandra, raving.

Hect. Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well: And on the cause and question now in hand Have gloz'd,5-but superficially; not much

eyes,

Unfit to hear moral philosophy:

Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought

And I will fill them with prophetic tears.

Hect. Peace, sister, peace.

The reasons, you allege, do more conduce To the hot passion of distemper'd blood,

Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled Than to make up a free determination

elders,

Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,

Add to my clamours! let us pay betimes

A moiety of that mass of moan to come.

'Twixt right and wrong; For pleasure and revenge
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
Of any true decision. Nature craves,

All dues be render'd to their owners; Now

Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears; What nearer debt in all humanity,

Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;

Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all.

Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen, and a wo:
Cry, cry! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit.
Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high

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Than wife is to the husband? if this law

Of nature be corrupted through affection;
And that great minds, of partial indulgence
To their benumbed wills, resist the same ;
There is a law in each well-order'd nation,
To curb those raging appetites that are
Most disobedient and refractory.

If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king,-
As it is known she is, these moral laws
Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud
To have her back return'd: Thus to persist
In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong,
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion
Is this, in way of truth: yet, ne'ertheless,
My sprightly brethren, I propend to you
In resolution to keep Helen still;

For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependence
Upon our joint and several dignities.

Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our

design:

And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst us Were it not glory that we more affected
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen

To fight for and maintain!

Par. Else might the world convince of levity As well my undertakings, as your counsels: But I attest the gods, your full consent Gave wings to my propension, and cut off All fears attending on so dire a project. For what, alas, can these my single arms? What propugnation is in one man's valour, To stand the push and enmity of those This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest, Were I alone to pass the difficulties, And had as ample power as I have will, Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done, Nor faint in the pursuit.

Pri.

Paris, you speak Like one besotted on your sweet delights: You have the honey still, but these the gall; So to be valiant, is no praise at all.

Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it;
But I would have the soil of her fair rape
Wip'd off, in honourable keeping her.
What treason were it to the ransack'd queen,
Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,
Now to deliver her possession up,

On terms of base compulsion? Can it be,
That so degenerate a strain as this
Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?
There's not the meanest spirit on our party,
Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw,
When Helen is defended; nor none so noble,
Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death unfam'd,
Where Helen is the subject: then, I say,

(1) Corrupt, change to a worse state.
(2) To set it off. (3) Convict.
(4) Defence. (5) Commented.

Than the performance of our heaving spleens,
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood
Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
She is a theme of honour and renown;
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds;
Whose present courage may beat down our foes,
And fame, in time to come, canonize us:
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose
So rich advantage of a promis'd glory,
As smiles upon the forehead of this action,
For the wide world's revenue.

Hect.

I am yours,
You valiant offspring of great Priamus.-
I have a roistings challenge sent amongst
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks,
Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits
I was advértis'd, their great general slept,
Whilst emulation in the army crept;
This, I presume, will wake him.

[Exeunt. SCENE III.-The Grecran camp. Before Achilles' tent. Enter Thersites.

Ther. How now, Thersites? what, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus? he beats me, and I rail at him: O worthy satisfaction! 'would, it were otherwise; that I could beat him, whilst he railed at me: 'Sfoot, I'll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles, a rare engineer. If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of themselves. O thou great thunderdarter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the king of gods; and, Mercury, lose all the serpen

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