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CHLORIS APPEARING IN A LOOKING

GLASS

ON THE NUMBER THREE.

OFT have I seen a piece of art,

Of light and shade the mixture fine, Speak all the passions of the heart,

And show true life in every line. But what is this before my eyes,

With every feature, every grace, That strikes with love and with surprize,

And gives me all the vital face? It is not Chloris : for, behold,

The shifting phantom comes and goes; And when 't is here, 't is pale and cold,

Nor any female softness knows. But 't is her image, for I feel

The very pains that Chloris gives; Her charms are there, I know them well,

I see what in my bosom lives. Oh, could I but the picture save!

'Tis drawn by her own matchless skill; Nature the lively colours gave,

And she need only look to kill. Ah! fair-one, will it not suffice,

That I should once your victim lie; Unless you multiply your eyes,

And strive to make me doubly die ?

BEAUTY rests not in one fix'd place,
But seems to reign in every face;
'Tis nothing sure but fancy then,
In various forms, bewitching men;
Or is its shape and colour fram’d,
Proportion just, and woman nam'd?
If fancy only rul'd in love,
Why should it then so strongly move?
Or why should all that look agree,
To own its mighty power in Three?
In Three it shows a different face,
Each shining witb peculiar grace.
Kindred a native likeness gives,
Which pleases, as in all it lives;
And, where the features disagree,
We praise the dear variety.
Then beauty surely ne'er was yet,
So much unlike itself, and so complete.

ESSAY ON THE DIFFERENT ST1ZES OF

POETRY'.

TO HENRY LORD VISCOUNT BOLING BROKE.

-Vatibus addere calcar, Ut studio majore petant Helicona Firentem.

HOR. Ep. II. 1.

ON A LADY WITH FOUL BREATH.

Art thou alive? It cannot be,
There's so much rottenness in thee,
Corruption only is in death;
And what's more putrid than thy breath?
Think not you live because you speak,
For graves such hollow sounds can make;
And respiration can't suffice,
For vapours do from caverns rise:
From thee such noisome stenches come,
'Thy mouth betrays thy breast a tomb.
Thy body is a corpse that goes,
By magic rais'd from its repose :
A pestilence that walks by day,
But falls at night to worms and clay.
But I will to my Chloris run,
Who will not let me be undone :
The sweets her virgin-breath contains
Are fitted to remove my pains;
There will I healing nectar sip,
And, to be sav'd, approach her lip,
Though, if I touch the matchless dame,
I'm sure to burn with inward flame.
Thus, when I would one danger shun,
I'm straight upon another thrown:
I seek a cure, one sore to ease,
Yet in that cure's a new disease :
But love, though fatal, still can bless.
And greater dangers hide the less;
I'll go where passion bids me fly,
And choose my death, since I must die;
As doves pursued by birds of prey,
Venture with unilder man to stay.

I HATE the vulgar with untuncful mind;
Hearts uninspird, and senses unrefin'd.
Hence, ye prophane: I raise the sounding string,
And Bolingbroke descends to hear me sing.

" Allegory is in itself so retired a way of writia, that it was thought proper to say something bé forehand concerning this piece, which is entirely framed upon it. The design, therefore, is to sho the several styles which have been made us by those who have endeavoured to write in ver, The scheme, by which it is carried on, supposó an old Grecian poet couching his observations ( instructions within an allegory; which allegory is wrought out upon the singie word flight, as is the figurative way it signifies a thought above the common level : here wit is made to te Pegasus, and the poet his rider, who flies by several coustries where he must not touch, by which are mean: so many vicious styles, and arrives at last at the sublime. This way of writing is not only very esgaging to the fancy whenever it is well performed, but it has been thought also one of the first that the poets made use of. Hence arose many of those stories concerning the beathen gods, which at first were invented to insinuate truth and mo rality more pleasingly, and which afterwards made poetry itself more solemn, when they barpened to be recived into the hentben divinity. And indeed there seems to be no likelier way by whicb a poetical genius may yet appear as an original, than that he should proceed with a fui compass of thought and knowledge, either to de sign bis plan, or to beautify the parts of it, ia sa allegorical manner. We are much bebolden to antiquity for those excellent compositions by

When Greece could truth in mystic fable, Shall clear new ground, and grots and caves shroud,

To civilize the babbling Echoes there. [repair, And with delight instruct the listening crowd, Then, while a lover treads a lonely walk, An ancient poet (time has lost his name)

His voice shall with its own reflection talk, Deliver'd strains on verse to future fame.

The closing sounds of all the vain device Still, as he sung, he touch'd the trembling lyre,

Select by trouble frivolously nice, And felt the notes a rising warmth inspire. Resound through verse, and with a false pretence Ye sweetening graces, in the music throng, Support the dialogue, and pass for sense. Assist my genius, and retrieve the song

Can things like these to lasting praise pretend ? From dark oblivion. See, my genius goes Can any Muse the worthless toil befriend? To call it forth. 'Twas thus the poem rose.

Ye sacred virgins, in my thoughts ador'd, “ Wit is the Muses' horse, and bears on high Ah, be for ever in my lines deplord, The daring rider to the Muses' sky:

If tricks on words acquire an endless name, Who, while his strength to mount aloft he tries, And trifles merit in the court of Fame !" By regions varying in their nature fies.

At this the poet stood concern'd a while, “ At first, he risetb o'er a land of toil,

And view'd his objects with a scornful smile: A barren, hard, and undeserving soil,

Then other images of different kind, Where only weeds from heavy labour grow,

With different workings enter'd on his mind; Which yet the nation prune, and keep for show; At whose approach, he felt the former gone, Where couplets jingling on their accent run, And shiver'd in conceit, and thus went on: Whose point of epigram is sunk to pun;

“ By a cold region next the rider goes, Where wings by fancy never feather'd fly?,

Where all lies cover'd in eternal snows; Where lines by measure form'd in hatchets lie; Where no bright genius drives the chariot high, Where altars stand, erected porches gape,

To glitter on the ground, and gild the sky. And sense is cramp'd while words are par'd to Bleak level realm, where frigid styles abound, Where mean acrostics, labour'd in a frame (shape. Where never yet a daring thought was found, On scatter'd letters, raise a painful scheme;

But counted feet is poetry defin'd; And, by confinement in their work, control And starv'd conc:its, that chill the reader's mind. The great enlargings of the boundless soul; A little sense in many words imply, Where if a warrior's elevated fire

And drag in loitering nambers slowly by. Would all the brightest strokes of verse require, Here dry sententious speeches, half asleep, Then straight in anagram a wretched crew Prolong'd in lines, o'er many pages creep; Will pay their undeserving praises too;

Nor ever show the passions well express'd, While on the rack his pour disjointed name Nor raise like passions in another's breast. Must tell its master's character to Fame.

Here flat narrations fair exploits debase, And (if my fire and fears arighit presage)

In measures veid of every shining grace; The labouring writers of a future age

Which never arm their hero for the field,

Nor with prophetic story paint the shield, which writers at present form their minds; but Nor fix the crest, nor make the feathers wave, it is not so much required of us to adhere merely Undeck'd they stand, and unadorn'd witli praise,

Nor with their characters reward the brave; to their fables, as to observe their manner. For,

And fail to profit while they fail to please. if we preclude our own invention, poetry will consist only in expression, or simile, or the applica. It never stamps its image on the thought;

Here fore’d description is so strangely wrought, tion of old stories; and the utmost character to which a genius can arrive will depend on imitation, And rivers stop, for ought the readers care ;

The lifeless trees inay stand for ever bare, or a borrowing from others, which we must agree They see no branches trembling in the woods, together not to call stealing, because we take only Nor hear the murmurs of increasing floods, from the ancients. There have been poets amongst which near the roots with rutiled waters flow, ourselves, such as Spencer and Milton, who have

And shake the shadows of the boughs below. successfully ventured further. These instances may let us see that invention is not bounded by Such cold endeavours would invade thy name!

Ah, sacred Verse, replete with heavenly flame, what has been done before: they inay open our

The writer fondly would in these survive; imaginations, and be one inethod of preserving us from writing without schemes. As for what relates But, if applause or fame attend his pen,

Which, wanting spirit, never seem'd alive: any further, particularly to this poem, the reader

Let breathless statues pass for breathing men.” will observe, that its aim is instruction. Perhaps

Here scem'd the singer touch'd at what lie sung, a representation of several mistakes and difficult

And grief a while delay'd his hand and tongue: ies, which happen to many who write poetry, may deter some from attempting what they have not And flourish'd shrill, and thus arose again :

But soon he check'd his fingers, chose a strain, been made for: and perhaps the description of

“ Pass the next region which appears to show: several beauties belonging to it may afford hints towards forming a genius for delighting and im- Tis very open, unimprov'd, and low;

No noble flights of elevated thought, proving mankind. If either of these happen, the poem is useful; and upon that account its faults No nervous strength of sense maturely wrought,

PARNELL may be more easily excused.

Possess this realm ; but common turns are there,

Which idly sportive move with childish air. 2 These and the like conceits of putting poems On callow wings, and like a plague of flies, into several shapes by the different lengths of lines, Thelittle Fancies in a poem rise, are frequent in old poets of most languages. The jaded reader every where to strikr,

PARNELL. And move his passions every where alike.

There all the graceful nymphs are forc'd to play Ah, sacred Verse ! lest reason quit thy seat, Where any water bubbles in the way:

Give none to such, or give a gentler heat.” There shaggy satyrs are obliged to rove

'Twas here the singer felt his temper wrought In all the fields, and over all the grove:

By fairer prospects, which arose to thought; There every star is summon'd from its sphere, And in himself a while collected sat, To dress one face, and make Clorinda fair: And much admir'd at this, and much at that; There Cupids fling their darts in every song, Till all the beauteous forms in order ran, While nature stands neglected all along :

And then he took their track, and thus began: Till the teaz'd hearer, vex'd at last to find

“ Above the beauties, far above the show One constant object still assault the mind,

In which weak Nature dresses here below, Admires no more at what's no longer new, Stands the great palace of the bright and fine, And hastes to shun the persecuting view.

Where fair ideas in full glory shine ; There bright surprises of poetic rage

Eternal models of exalted parts, (Whose strength and beauty, more confirm'd in The pride of minds, and conquerors of hearts. For having lasted, last the longer still) [age “ Upon the first arrival here, are seen By weak attempts are imitated ill,

Rang'd walks of bay, the Muses' ever-green, Or carried on beyond their proper light,

Each sweetly springing from some sacred bougt, Or with refinement flourished out of sight. Whose circling shade adorn'd a poet's brow, There metaphors on metaphors abound,

While through the leaves, in unmolested skies, And sense by differing images confound :

The gentle breathing of applauses fljes, Strange injudicious management of thought, And flattering sounds are heard within the breeze, Not born to rage, nor into method brought. And pleasing murmur runs among the trees, Ah, sacred Muse! from such a realm retreat, And falls of water join the flattering sounds, Noridly waste the influence of thy heat

And murmur softening from the sbore rebounds. On shallow soils, where quick productions rise, The warbled melody, the lovely sights, And wither as the warmth that rais'd them dies." The calms of solitude inspire delights,

Here o'er his breast a sort of pity roll'd, The dazzled eyes, the ravish'd ears are caught, Which something labouring in the mind controld, The panting heart unites to purer thought, And made him touch the loud resounding strings, And grateful shiverings wander o'er the skin, While thus with music's stronger tones he sings : And wondrous extacies arise within,

“Mount higher still, still keep thy faithful seat, Whence admiration overflows the mind,
Mind the firm reins, and curb thy courser's heat; And leaves the pleasure felt, but undefin'd."
Nor let him touch the realms that next appear, Stay, daring rider, now no longer rore;
Whose hanging turrets seem a fall to fear; Now pass to find the palace through the grote:
And strangely stand along the tracts of air, Whate'er you see, whate'er you feel, display
Where thunder rolls and bearded comets glare. The realm you sought for ; daring rider, stay.
The thoughts that most extravagantly soar,

“Here various Fancy spreads a varied scene, 'The words that sound as if they meant to roar; And Judgment likes the sight, and looks serene, For rant and noise are offer'd here to choice, And can be pleas'd itself, and helps to please, And stand elected by the public voice.

And joins the work, and regulates the lays.
All schemes are slighted which attempt to shine Thus, on a plan design'd by double care,
At once with strange ond probable design ; The building rises in the glittering air,
'Tis here a mean conceit, a vulgar view,

With just agreement fram'd in every part, That bears the least respect to seerning true; And smoothly polish'd with the nicest art. While every trifling turn of things is seen

“Here laurel-boughs, which ancient heroes vore, To move by gods descending in machine.

Now not so fading as they prov'd before, Here swelling lines with stalking strut proceed, Wreath round the pillars which the poets rear, And in the clouds terrific rumblings breed; Aud slope their points to make a foliage there. Here single heroes deal grim deaths around, Here chaplets, pull'd in gently-b:eathing wind, And armies perish in tremendous sound;

And wrought by lovers innocently kind, Here fearful monsters are preserv'd to die,

Hung o'er the porch, their fragrant odours give. In such a tumult as affrights the sky;

And fresh in lasting song for ever live. For which the golden Sun shall hide with dread, The shades, for whom with such indulgent care And Neptune lift his sedgy-matted head,

Fame wreaths the boughs, or hangs the chaple's Admire the roar, and dive with dire dismay, To deathless honours thus preserv'd above, (there, And seek bis deepest chambers in the sea.

For ages conquer, or for ages love. To raise their subject tbus the lines devise,

Here bold Description paints the walls within, Anii false extravagance would fain surprise; Her pencil touches, and the world is seen: Yet still, ye gods, ye live untouch'd by fear, The fields look beauteous in their flowery pride, And undisturb'd at bellowing monsters here: The mountains rear aloft, the vales subside: But with compassion guard the brain of men, The cities rise, the rivers seem to play, If thus they bellow through the poet's pen : And banging rocks repel the foaming sea; So will the reader's eyes discern ariglit

The foaming seas their angry billows show. The rashest sally from the noblest tiight,

Curl'd white above, and darkly roli'd below, And find that only boast and sound agree

Or cease their rage, and, as they calmly lie, To seem the life and voice of majesty,

Return the pleasing pictures of the sky; When writers rampant on Apollo call,

The skies, extended in an open view, And bid him enter and possess them all,

Appear a lofty distant arch of blue, And make his flames afford a wild pretence in which description stains the painted box, To keep them unrestrain’d by common sense. Or thickens clouds, and feathers-out the show,

Or mingles blushes in the morning ray,

That leave their own, and seek another's place, Or gilds the noon, or turns an evening gray. Not forc'd, but changing with an easy pace,

“Here, on the pedestals of War and Peace, To deck a notion faintly seen before, (more. In different rows, and with a different grace, And Truth preserves her shape, and shines the Fine statues proudly ride, or nobly stand,

“ By these the beauteous similes reside, To which Narration with a pointing band

In look more open, in design ally'd, Directs the sight, and makes examples please Who, fond of likeness, from another's face By boldly venturing to dilate in praise;

Bring every feature's corresponding grace, While chosen beauties lengthen out the song, With near approaches in expression flow, Yet make her hearers never think it long.

And take the turn their pattern loves to show; Or if, with closer art, with sprightly mien, As in a glass the shadows meet the fair, Scarce like herself, and more like Action seen, And dress and practice with resembling air. She bids their facts in images arise,

Thus Truth by pleasure doth her aim pursue, And seem to pass before the readers eyes,

Looks bright, and fixes on the doubled view. The words like charms enchanted motion give, “There Repetitions one another meet, And all the statues of the palace live.

Expressly strong, or languishingly sweet, Then hosts embattled stretch their lines afar, And raise the sort of sentiment they please, Their leaders' speeches animate the war,

And urge the sort of sentiment they raise. The trumpets sound, the feather'd arrows fly, “There close in order are the Questions plac'd, The sword is drawn, the lance is toss'd on high, Which march with art conceal'd in shows of haste, The brave press on, the fainter forces yield, And work the reader till his mind be brought And death in different shapes deforms the field. To make its answers in the writer's thought. Or, should the shepherds be dispos'd to play, For thus the moving passions seem to throng, Amintor's joliy pipe beguiles the day,

And with their quickness force the soul along; And jocund Echos daily with the sound,

And thus the soul grows fond they should prevail, And nymphs in measures trip along the ground, When every question seems a fair appeal; And, ere the dews have wet the grass below, And if by just degrees of strength they suar, Turn homewards singing all the way they go. In steps as equal each affects the more.

Here, as on circumstance narrations dwell, “There strange Commotion, naturally shown, And tell what moves, and hardly seem to tell, Speaks on regardless that she speaks alone, The toil of heroes on the dusty plains,

Nor minds if they to whom she talks be near, Or on the green the merriment of swains,

Nor cares if that to which she talks can hear. Reflection speaks : then all the forms that rose The warmth of Anger dares an absent foe; In life's enchanted scene themselves compose: The words of Pity speak to tears of Woe; Whilst the grave voice, controlling all the spells, The Love that hopes, on errands sends the breeze; With solemn utterance, thus the moral tells: And Love despairing moans to naked trees. So public worth its enemies destroys,

“ There stand the new Creations of the Muse, Or private innocence itself enjoys.'

Poetie persons, whom the writers use “Here all the passions, for their greater sway, Whene'er a cause magniticently great In all the power of words themselves array; Would fix attention with peculiar weight. And hence the soft pathetic gently charms, "Tis hence that humble provinces are seen And hence the bolder fills the breast with arms. Transform'd to matrons with neglected mian, Sweet love in numbers finds a world of darts, Who call their warriors in a mournful sound, And with desirings wounds the tender hearts, And show their crowns of turrets on the ground, Fair hope displays its pinions to the wind, While over urns reclining rivers moan And flutters in the lines, and lifts the mind. They should enrich a nation not their own. Brisk joy with transport fills the rising strain, "Tis hence the virtues are no more confin'd Breaks in the notes, and bounds in every vein. To be but rules of reason in the mind; Stern courage, glittering in the sparks of ire, The heavenly forms start forth, appear to breathe, Inflames those lays that set the breast on fire. And in bright shapes converse with man beneath ; Aversion learns to fly with swifter will,

And, as a god in combat Valour leads, In numbers taught to represent an ill.

In council Prudence as a goddess aids. By frightful accents Fear produces fears;

“There Exclamations all the voice employ By sad expression Sorrow melts to tears :

In sudden flashes of concern or joy: And dire Amazement and Despair are brought Then seem the sluices, which the passions bound, By words of horrour through the wilds of thought. To burst assunder with a speechless sound; Tis thus tumultuous passions learn to roll; And then with tumult and surprise they roll, 'Thus, arm'd with poetry, they win the soul. And show the case important in the so

“Pass further through the dome, another view “There rising Sentences attempt to speak, Would now the pleasures of thy mind renew,

Which wonder, sorrow, shame, or anger, break; Where oft Description for the colours goes, But so the part directs to find the rest, Which raise and aniinate its native shows; That what remains behivd is more than guess'd. Where oft Narration seeks a florid grace

Thus fill'd with ease, yet lest unfinish'd too, To keep from sinking ere 't is time to cease; The sense looks large within the reader's view: Where easy turns Reflection looks to find, Ile freely gathers all the passion means, When Morals aim at dress to please the mind; And artful silence more than words explains. Where lively figures are for use array'd,

Methinks a thousand graces more I sce, And these an action, those a passion, aid.

And I could dwell--but when would thought be “ There modest Metaphors in order sit,

Engaging Method ranges all the band, [free? With unaffected, undisguising wit,

And smooth Transition joins them hand in hand :

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Around the music of my lays they throng,

And what fair visions oft we fancy nigh Ah, too deserving objects of my song!

By fond delusions of the swimming eye, Live, wondrous palace, live secure of time, Or further pierce through nature's maze to find To senses harmony, to souls sublime,

How passions drawn give passions to the mind. And just proportion all, and great design,

Oh, what a sweet confusion! what surprise! And lively colours, and an air divine.

How quick the shifting views of pleasure rise! 'Tis here that, guided by the Muse's fire, While, lightly skimming, with a transient wing, And fill'd with sacred thought, her friends retire, I touch the beauties which I wisb to sing. Unbent to care, and unconcern'd with noise, Is verse a sovereign regent of the soul, To taste repose and elevated joys,

And fitted all its motions to control ? Which in a deep untroubled leisure meet,

Or are they sisteis, tun'd at once above, Serenely ravishing, politely sweet. [choose, And shake like unisons if either move? From hence the charms that most engage they For, when the numbers sing an eager fight, And, as they please, the glittering objects use; I've heard a soldier's voice express delight; While to their genius, more than art they trust, I've seen his eyes with crowding spirits shine, Yet art acknowledges their labours just.

And round his hilt his hand unthinking twine. From hence they look, from this exalted show, When from the shore the fickle Trojan flies, To choose their subject in the world below, And in sweet measures poor Eliza dies, And where a hero well deserves a name,

I've seen the book forsake the virgin's hand, They consecrate his acts in song to Fame; And in her eyes the tears but hardly stand. Or, if a science unadorn'd they find, [mind; I've known her blush at soft Corinna's name, They smooth its look to please and teach the And in red characters confess a flame: And where a friendship's generously strong, Or wish success had more adorn'd his arms, They celebrate the knot of souls in song;

Who gave the world for Cleopatra's charms. Or, if the verses must inflame desire,

Ye sons of glorý, be my first appeal, The thoughts are melted, and the words on fire: If here the power of lines these lines reveal. But, when the temples deck'd with glory stand, Whensome great youth has withimpetuousthongbt And hymns of gratitude the gods demand, Read o'er achievements which another wroughi, Their bosoms kindle with celestial love,

And seen his courage and his honour go And then alone they cast their eyes above. Through crowding nations in triumphant show,

"Hail, sacred Verse! ye sacred Muses, hail ! His soul, enchanted by the words he reads, Could I your pleasures with your fire reveal, Shines all impregnated with sparkling seeds, The world might then be taught to know your And courage here, and honour there, appears And court your rage, and envy my delight. [right, In brave design that soars beyond his years, But, whilst I follow where your pointed beams And this a spear, and that a chariot lends, My course directing shoot in golden streams, And war and triumph he by turns attends ; The bright appearance dazzles Fancy's eyes, Thus gallant pleasures are his waking dream, And weary'd out the fix'd attention lies;

Till some fair cause have call'd him forth to fame. Enough, my verses, have you work'd my breast, Then, form'd to life on what the poet made, I'll seek the sacred grove, and sink to rest." And breathing slaughter, and in arms array'd, No longer now the ravish'd poet sung,

He marches forward on the daring foe, His voice in easy cadence left the tongue;

Aod emulation acts in every blow. Nor o'er tbe music did his fingers fly,

Great Hector's shade in fancy stalks along, The sounds ran tingling, and they seem'd to die. From rank to rank amongst the martial throng ;

0, Bulingbroke! O favourite of the skies, While from his acts he learns a noble rage, O born to gifts by which the uoblest rise,

And shines like Hector in the present age. Improv'd in arts by which the brightest please, Thus verse will raise him to the victor's bays; Intent to business, and polite for ease;

And verse, that rais'd him ,shall resound his praise. Sublime in eloquence, where loud applause

Ye tender beauties, be my witness too, Haih styl’d thee patron of a nation's cause. [great, If song can charm, and if my song be true. 'Twas there the world perceiv'd and own' thee With sweet experience oft a fair may find Thence Anna call'd thee to the reins of state; Her passions mov'd by passions well design'd; “ Go, said the greatest queen, with Oxford go, And then she longs to meet a gentle swain, And still the tumults of the world below,

And longs to love, and to be lov'd again. Exert thy powers, and prosper; be that knows And if by chance an amorous youth appears, To move with Oxford, never should repose.” With pants and blushes she the courtship hears;

She spake : the patriot overspread thy mind, And finds a tale that must with theirs agree, And all thy days to public good resign'd.

And he's Septimius, and his Acme 'she: Else might thy soul, so wonderfully wrought Thus lost in thought her melted heart she gives, For every depth and turn of curious thought, And the rais'd lover by the poet lives. To this the poet's sweet recess retreat, And thence report the pleasures of the seat,

"With such a husband such a wife, Describe the raptures which a writer knows,

With Acme and Septimius' life, When in his breast a vein of fancy glows, is the conclusion of Cowley's beautiful imitation Describe his business while he works the mine, of Catullus. On those lines an excellent prelate Describe his temper when he sees it shine, has observed, that, to the honour of Cowley's miOr say, when readers easy verse insnares, rals and good taste, by a small deviation from his How inuch the writer's mind can act on theirs : original, he has converted a loose love-poem into Whence images in charining numbers set, a sober epithalamium; we have all the grace, and A sort of likeness in the soul beget,

what is more, all the warmth of Catullus, without his indecency, N.

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