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Josepi Addison was born May 21, 1672, al Milston, of which his father was then Rector, near Ambrosebury in Wiltshire. He was early sent to school, there, under the care of the Rev. Mr. Naish; from whence he was remored to Salisbury school, and then to the Charterhouse, under the tuition of the learned Dr. Ellis, Here he first Cantracied an intimacy with Mr. Steele, which continued almost to his death. Al fifteen he was entered of Queen's College, Oxford, and in about two years admilled to the degrees of bachelor and master of arts in that college; at wbich time he was celebrated for his lalin poems, to be found in a second volume of the Musue Britanicue, collected by Addison. Being ai the university, he was upon the point of ceding to the desires of his father and several of his friends, to cater into holy orders; but having, through Mr. Congreve's means, become a favourite of Lord Halifax, he was prevailed tipon by liat nublemau, to give up the design. He successively filled the public stations, in 1702, of Comgrissioner of the Appeals in the Excise ; 1707, Under-Secretary of Slale; 1709, Secretary of Ireland, and Keeper of the Records in Irelaod; 1715 (the grand climacteric of Addison's reputation, Cato appeared) Secretary to the Lords' Justices; 1714 one of the Lords Commissioners of Trade; and at last, 1717, one of the first Secretaries of State. Dr. Johnson says, "For láis employment he might justly be supposed qualified by long practice of business, and by his regular ascent through other ofhces; bil expectation is often disappointed; it is universally confessed, that he was unequal to the duties of his place. In the House of Commons he could not speak, and therefore was useless to the desence of the Governraent. Is the office, says Pope, he could not issue an order without losing his time in quest of fine expressions.” lle sebeiled òis dismissal with a pension of 1500 pounds a year. He married the Countess Dowager of Warwick, 1716; and is said to have first known her by becoming tutor to ber son. Johnson says, “The Lady was at last prevailed upon to marry him, or terms much like those, on which a Turkish princess is espoused, to whom Ibe sulian is reported to pronounce, Daughter, I give thee this man for thy slave.' The marriage made no addition to his happimess; it neither made them nor found them equal." lu 1718 - 19. he had a severe dispute on The Poerage Bill with Stecle, who, inveterate in bis political opinions, supported them in a pamphlet called The Plebeian, which Addison answered by another, under the title of The Old Whis. Some epithets, let drop by Addison, answered loy a cutting quotation from Calo, by Steele, were the cause of their friendship's being dissolved; and every person acquainted with ihe friendly terms on which these ?wo great men had lived so long, must regret, that they should finally part in aerimonious opposition. Addison died of au asthma and dropsy, on the 17th June, 1719, aged 48, leaving only ono daughter behind him. The general esteem ia which leis productions, both serious and humorous in The Spectator, The Taller, and The Guardian are held, "pleads (as Spakspeare says), like ungels, trumpet-tongued, in their behall.” A,

poet, his Cate, in the dramatic, and his Campaign, in the heroic way, will ever maintain a place among the first-rato works of either kind. - And a good man's death displays the character of his life. At his last hour, he sent for a relation of his, young Lord Warwick, whose youth hic supposed might be influenced by an awful lesson, wben, laking hold of the young man's hand, he said "sec in what peace a Christian can dic !” and immediately expired.



ACTED at Drury Lane, 1715. It is one of the first of our dramatic poems, and was performed 18 nights successively ; this very successful run for a tragedy, is attributed by Dennis, who wrote a very bitter critique upon Cato, to proceed from Addison's having raised prejudices in his own favour, by false positions of preparatory criticism ; and with his having poisoned the town by contradicting, in The Specialur, the established rule of poetical justice, becauso his own hero, with all his virtues, was to fall before a tyrant. Johoson says, “the fact is certain; the motives we must guess. Steele packed an audience. The danger was soon

The whole nalion was, at that time, on fire with faction. The Whigs applauded every line, in which liberly was mentioned, as a satiru on the Tories; and the Tories echwed every clap, to sbew, that the salire was unfell." It was ushered inlu notice by eight complimentary copies of verses to the author, among which, one by Steele, leads the van; besides a prologie by Pope, and an epilogue by Dr. Garth: Dr. Johnson, with the abovementioned persons, nay, even Dennis's gall, has marked this tragedy as a British classic, and a succession of audiences for above id century has proved, that it has deserved “Goldin opina jons from all sorts of people." Johnson obscrves, "Of a work so much read, it is difficult !o say any thing new. About things on which the public thinks ling, it commonly allains to think riglit; and of Cato it has been not unjustly determined, that it is rather a poem in dialogue than a drama; rather a suceession of just sentiments in clegané language, than a representation of natural allections, or of any state probable or possible in human life. Nothing here excites or assuages emotion; here is no magical power of ruising phantastic terror or exciting wild anxiety. The evenis are expected without solicitude, and remembered withouil juy or surrow. of the agents we have no care. Cato is a being above our solicitude, a man of whom “lhe gods take care," and whom we leave to their care with heedless confidence. To the rest, neither gods nor men can have much attention ; for there is not one amongst them, that strongly attracts either affection or esteem. But they are made the vehicles of such sentiments and such expressions that there is scarcely a scene in the play, which the reader does not wish 10 impress upon his memory.








MUTINEERS. GUARDS. etc. Scene.--The Governor's Palace in Utica.

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And heavily in clouds brings on the day, SCENE I. A Hall.

The great, th' important day, big with the fate Enter PORTIUS and CUS.

Of Cato and of Rome-our father's death The dawn is overcast, the morning Would fill up all the guilt of civil war, low'rs,

And close the scene of blood. Already Caesar




Has ravag' more than half the globe, and sees Love is not to be reason'd down, or lost
Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword: In high ambition and a thirst of greatness;
Should he go further, numbers would be wanting) "Tis second life, that grows into the soul,
To form new battles, and support his crimes. Warms every vein, and beats in every pulse:
Ye gods, wbat havoc does ambition make I feel it here: my resolution mells-
Among your works !

Por. Behold young Juba, the Numidian Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius,

prince, Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Caesar, With how much care he forms himself to glory, In the calm lights of mild philosophy; And breaks the fierceness of his native temper, I'm tortur'd, e'en to madness, when I think To copy out our father's bright example. On the proud victor: ev'ry time he's nam'd He loves our sister Marcia, greally loves her; Pharsalia rises lo my view!-I see

His eyes, bis looks, his actions, all betray it; Th' insulting tyrant, prancing o'er the field, But still the smotber'd fondness burns within Strew'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd

bim: in slaughter;

When most it swells, and labours for a vent, His horses hoofs wet with patrician blood! The sense of honour, and desire of fame, Oh, Portius! is not there some chosen curse, Drive the big passion back into his heart. Some hidden thunder in the stores of heav'n, What, shall an African, shall Juba's heir Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man Reproach great Cato's son, and show the world Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin? A virtue wanting in a Roman soul? Por. Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious Marc. Portius, no more! your words leave eatness,

stings behind them. And mix'd with too much horror to he envied: Whene'er did Juba, or did Portius, show How does the lustre of our father's actions, A virtue that has cast me at a distance, Through the dark cloud of ills that cover him, And thrown me out in the pursuits of honour? Break out, and burn with more triumphant Por. Oh, Marcus! did I know the way to

brightness! His sufferings shine, and spread a glory round Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy pains,

Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it. Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause Marc. Thou best of brothers, and thou best of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome.

of friends! Marc. Who knows not this? But what can Pardon a weak, distemper'd soul, that swells Cato do

With sudden gusts, and sinks as soon in calms, Against a world, a base, degen'rate world, The sport of passions. But Sempronius comes: That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to He must not find tbis softness hanging on me. Caesar?

[Exit. Pent up in Utica, be vainly forms

Enter SeMPRONIUS. A poor epitome of Roman greatness,

Sem. Conspiracies no

sooner should be And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs

form'd A feeble army, and an empty senate,

Than executed. What means Portius here? Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain. I like not that cold youth. I must dissemble, By heav'n, such virlues, join'd with such success, And speak a language foreign to my

heart. Distracts my very soul! our father's fortune

[Aside. Would almost templ us to renounce his precepts. Good morrow, Portius; let us once embrace, Por: Remember what our father oft bas Once more embrace, while yet we both are free.

l'o-morrow, should we thus express The ways of hear'n are dark and intricate;

friendship, Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with errors, Each might receive a slave into his arms. Our understanding traces them in vain, This sun, perhaps, this morning sun's the last, Lost and bewilderd in the fruitless search; l'bat e'er shall rise on Roman liberty. Nor sees with how much arl the windings run, Por. My father has this morning callid toNor where the regular confusion ends.

gether Marc. These are suggestions of a mind al To this poor hall, his lille Roman senate

(The leavings of Pharsalia), to consult Oh, Portius, didst thou taste but half the griefs If he can yet oppose the mighty torrent That wring my soul, thou couldst not talk That bears down Rome and all her gods before it, thus coldly.

Or must at length give up the world to Caesar. Passion unpilied, and successless love,

Sem. Not all the pomp and inajesty of Rome Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate

Can raise her senate more than Calo's presence. My other griefs.- Were but my Lucia kind- His virtues render our assembly awful, Por. Thou seest not that thy brother is thy They strike with something like religious fear, rival;

And make ev'n Caesar Iremble at the head But I must hide it, for I know thy temper.

Of armies flush'd with conquest. [Aside.

Portius! Now, Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof, Could I but call that wondrous man my father, Put forth thy utmost strength, work ev'ry nerve, Would but thy sister Marcia be propitious And call up all thy father in thy soul: To thy friend's vows, I might be blesi indeed! To quell the tyrant love, and guard thy heart Por. Alas, Sempronius! wouldst thou talk On this weak side, where most our nature fails,

of love Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son. To Marcia, whilst her father's life's in danger?

Mari. Alas, the counsel which I cannot take., Thou might'st as well court the pale, tremInstead of healing, but upbraids my weakness.

bling vestal,

told us:



Oh, my


When she bebolds the holy fiame expiring. Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, that your Sem. The more I see the wonders of thy race,

senate The more I'm charm'd. Thou must take beed, Is call'd together? Gods! thou must be cautious; my Portius;

Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern The world has all its eyes on Cato's son; Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with art. Thy father's merit sets ihee up to view, Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal And shows thee in the fairest point of light, My thoughts in passion ('tis the surest way); To make thy virtues or thy faulis conspicuous. Til bellow out for Rome, and for my country, Por. Well dost thou seem to check my And mouth at Caesar, till I shake the senate. ling’ring here

Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device, On this important hour-l'll straight away, A worn-out trick : wouldst thou be thought And while the fathers of the senate meet

in earnest, In close debate, to weigh th' events of war,

Clothe thy feign'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury! Ill animate the soldiers' drooping courage Syph. In troth, thou’rt able to instruct grey With love of freedom, and contempt of life;

hairs, il thunder in their ears their country's cause, and teach the wily African deceit. And try to rouse up all that's Roman in them. Sem. Once more be sure to try thy skill Tis not in mortals lo command success,

on Juba. But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll deserve Meanwhile I'll hasten to my Roman soldiers, ii.

[Exit. InGame the mutiny, and, underhand, Sem. Curse on the stripling! how he apes Blow up their discontents, till they break out his sire!

Unlook'd for, and discharge themselves on Cato. Ambitiously sententious-But I wonder Remember, Syphax, we must work in baste; Old Syphax comes not, his Numidian genins Oh, think what anxious moments pass between Is well dispos’d to mischiel

, were he prompt The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods ! And eager on it; but he must be spurrd, Oh, 'lis a dreadful interval of time, And ev'ry moment quicken'd to the course. Filld up with horror all, and big with death! Calo has us'd me ill; he has refus'd

Destruction hangs on ev'ry word we speak, His daughter Marcia to my ardent vows. On every thought, till the concluding stroke Besides, his bafiled arms and ruin'd cause, Determines all, and closes our design. [Exit. Are bars to my ambition. Caesar's favour, Syph. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason That show'rs down greatness on his friends, This headstrong youth, and make him spurn will raise me

at Cato. To Rome's first honours.. If I give up Cato, T'he time is short; Caesar comes rushing on I claim, in my reward, his captive daughter. But Syphax comes

But hold! young Juba sees me, and approaches!

Enter JUBA.
Enter SyphAX.

Juba. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone. Syph. Sempronius, all is ready;

I have observ'd of late thy looks are fallin, I've sounded iny Numidians, man by man, O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent; And find them ripe for a revolt: they all Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me, Complain aloud of Cato's discipline,

Wbat are the thoughts that knit thy brow in and wait but the command to change their


And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince? Sem. Believe me, Syphax, there's no time

Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my to waste:

thoughts, Ev'n while we speak, our conqueror comes on, Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face, And gathers ground upon us ev'ry moment. When discontent sits heavy at my heart; Alas! thou know'st noi Caesar's active soul,

I have not yet so much the Roman in me. With what a dreadful course he rushes on

Juba. Why dost thou cast out such unFrom war to war. In vain has nature form'd

gen'rous terms Mountains and oceans to oppose his passage; Against the lords and sov'reigns of the world? He bounds o'er all;

Dost thou not see mankind fall down before One day more

them, Will set the victor thundring at our gates. And own the force of their superior virtue ? But, tell me, hast thou yet drawn o'er young Syph. Gods! where's the worth that sets Juba?

these people up That still would recommend thee moreto Caesar, Above your own Numidia's tawny sons? And challenge belter terms.

Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow? Syph. Alas! he's lost!

Or flies the jav'lin swister to its mark, He's lost, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm? Of Cato's virtues—But I'll try once more

Who like our active African instructs (For ev'ry instant I expect him here), The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand ? If yet I can subdue those stubborn principles Or guides in troops th' embattled elephant Of faith and honour, and I know not whal, Laden with war? 'These, these are arts, my That have corrupted his Numidian temper,

prince, And struck th' infection into all his soul. In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome. Sem. Be sure to press upon him ev'ry motive. Juba. These all are virtucs of a meaner rank: Juba's surrender, since his father's death, Persections that are plac'd in bones and nerves. Would give up Afric into Caesar's hands, A Roman soul is bent on higher views. And make him lord of balf the burning zone. To make man mild, and sociable to man;



say your love.

upon him!

To cultivate the wild, licentious savage, Juba. Alas! thy story melts away my soul! And break our fierce barbarians into men. That best of fathers! how shall I discharge Turn up thy eyes to Cato;

The gratitude and duty that I owe him?" There inay'št thou see to what a godlike height

Syph. By laying up his counsels in your The Roman virtues lift up mortal man.

. While good, and just, and anxious for his friends, Juba. llis counsels bade me yield to thy He's still severely bent against himself;

direction. And when bis fortune sets before him all Syph. Alas! my prince, I'd guide you to The pomps and pleasures that his soul can wish,

your safety. His rigid virtue will accept of none.

Juba. I do believe thou wouldst; but lell Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an

me bow. African

Syph. Fly from the fate that follows CaeThat traverses our vast Numidian deserts

sar's foes. In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow, Juba. My father scorn'd to do it. But better practises those boasted virtues. Syph. And therefore died. Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase; Juba. Better lo die ten thuusand thousand Amidst the running stream he slakes his thirst; Toils all the day, and at th' approach of night, Than wound my honour. On the first friendly bank lie throws him down, Syph. Rather Or rests his head upon a rock till morn; Juba. Syphax, I've promis'd to preserve my Then rises fresh, pursues bis wonted game;

temper. And if the following day he chance to find Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame A new repasl, or an untasted spring, I long have stilled, and would fain conceal? Blesses bis stars, and thinks it luxury.

Syph. Believe me, prince, though hard to Juba. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern

conquer love, What virtues grow from ignorance and choice, 'Tis easy to divert and break its force. Nor how the hero differs from the brute. Absence might cure it, or a second mistress Where shall we find the man that bears af- Light up another flame, and put out this. fiiction,

The glowing dames of Zama's royal court Great and majestic in bis griess, like Cato? Have faces flush'd with more exalted charms; Ilow does he rise against a load of woes, Were you with these, iny prince, you'd soon And thank the gods that threw the weight


The pale, unripen'd beauties of the north. Syph. "Tis pride, rank pride, and haughti- Juba. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion, ness of soul;

The tincture of a skin, that I admire: I think the Romans call it stoicism.

Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover, Jlad not your royal father thought so highly Fades in his eye, and palli upon the sense. Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause, The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex: He had not fall'n by a slave's hand inglorious; True, she is fair, (oh, how divinely fair!) Nor would his slaughter'd armies now have lain But still the lovely maid improves her charms On Afric's sands, disfigurd with their wounds, With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom, To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia. And sanctity of manners; Cato's soul Juba. Why dost thou call my sorrows up Shines out in ev'ry thing she acts or speaks, afresh?

Wbile winning mildness and attractive smiles My father's name brings tears into my eyes. Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace, Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's Soften the rigour of ber father's virtue. ills!

Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton Jubu. What wouldst thou have me do?

in her praise! Syph. Abandon Calo.

But, on my knees, I beg you would considerJuba. Syphax, I should be more than twice Juba. Ha! Syphax, is'i not she?-She moves

an orphan, By such a loss.

And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter. Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you! My heart beats thick – I pr’ythee, Syphax, leave You long to call him father. Marcia's charms Work in your heart unseen, and plead for Calo. Syph. Ten thousand curses fasten on them No wonder you are deaf to all I say.

both! Juba. Syphax, your zeal becomes impor- Now will the woman, with a single glance, tunate;

Undo what I've been lab'ring all this while. I've bitherto permitted it to rave,

[Exit. And talk at large; but learn to keep it in,

Enter MARCIA and Lucia. Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it. Juba. Hail, charming maid! how does thy Syph. Sir, your great father never us'd

beauty smooth

The face of war, and make ev'n horror smile! Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget At sight of thee my.

heart sbakes off its sorrows; The tender sorrows,

I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me, And repeated blessings,

And for awhile forget th' approach of Caesar. Which you drew from him in your last fare- Marcia. I should be griev'd, young prince, well ?

to think my presence, The good old king, al parting, wrung my land Unbent your thoughts, and slacken'd them (His eyes brimful of tears), then, sighing, cry'd,

to arms, Pr'ythee be careful of my son.-Flis grief While, warm with slaughter, our victorious foc Swelld up so high, he could not utter more. Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field.

this way;


me ihus.


who hopes

Juba. Oh, Marcia, let me hope thy kind | As if he mourn'd his rival's ill success;

Then bids me hide the motions of my heart, fod gentle wishes follow me to battle! Nor show which way it turns. So much he fears The thought will give new vigour to my arm, The sad effect that it will have on Marcus. And strength and weight to my descending Was ever virgin love distress'd like mine. sword,

Marcia. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our And drive it in a tempest on the foe.

sorrows, Marcia. My pray’rs and wishes always shall But to the gods submit th’event of things. attend

Our lives, discolour'd with our present woes, The friends of Rome, the glorious cause of virtue, May still grow bright, and smile with happier And men approv'd of by the gods and Cato.

hours. Juba. That Juba may deserve thy pious cares, I'll gaze for ever on thy godlike father,

So the pure, limpid stream, when foul with

stains Transplanting, one by one, into my life,

of rushing torrents, and descending rains, His bright perfections, till í shine like him. Marria. My father never, at a time like this, Till, by degrees, the floating mirror shines,

Works itself clear, and, as it runs, refines, Would lay oui his great soul in words, and waste Rellecis each flow'r that on the border grows, Such precious moments.

And a new heav'n in its fair bosom shows, Juba. Thy reproofs are just, Thou virtuous maid; I'll hasten to my troops,


And fire their languid souls with Cato's virtue.
If e'er I lead them to the field, when all

Scene I.-The Senate-house. The war shall stand rang'd in its just array, Flourish. SEMPRONIUS, Lucius, and Senaind dreadful pomp, then will I think on thee.

turs discovered. Ob, lovely maid! then will I think on thee; Sem. Rome still survives in this assembled And in the shock of cbarging hosts, remember

senate. What glorious deeds should grace the man, Let us remember we are Cato's friends,

And act like men who claim that glorious For Marcia's love.



[Trumpets. Lucia. Marcia, you're too severe:

Luc. Hark! be comes. Ilow could you chide the young, good-natur'd prince,

Trumpets. Enter Caro, Portius, and MARCUS. And drive him from you with so stern an air; Cato. Fathers, we once agaiņ are met in A prince that loves, and doles on you to death?

council; Harcia. How, Lucia! wouldst thou have me Caesar's approach has summond us together,

And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love, How shall we treat this bold, aspiring man? When ev'ry moment Cato's life's at stake? Success still follows him, and backs his crimes; Lucia. Why have I not this constancy of Pharsalia gave him Rome, Egypt has since mind,

Receiv'd his yoke, and the whole Nile is CaeWho have so many griefs to try its force?

sar's. Sure, nature form'd me of her softest mould, Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, Enfeebled all my soul with tender passions, And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands And sunk me er'n below my own weak sex: Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should Pily and love, by turns, oppress my heart.

decree Marcia. Lucia, dishurden all thy cares on me, What course to take. Our foe advances on us, And let me share thy most retir'd distress. And envies us ev'n Libya's sultry deserts. Tell me, who raises up this conflict in thee? Fathers, pronounce your thoughts: are they Lucia. I need not blush to name them,

still fix'd when I tell thee

To hold it out, and fight it to the last? They're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato. Or are your hearts subdu'd at length, and Marcia. But tell me whose address thou fa

wrought, vour'st most?

By time and ill success, to a submission? I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it. Sempronius, speak. Lucia. Suppose 'twere Portius, could you Sem. My voice is still for war. blame my choice?

Gods! can a Roman senate long debate Oh, Portius, thou hast stol'n away my soul! Which of the two to choose, slav'ry or death? Marcus is over warm; his fond complaints No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords, Have so much earnestness and passion in them, And, at the head of our remaining. troops, I hear him with a secret kind of horror, Attack the foe, break through the thick array And tremble at bis vehemence of temper. Of his throng'd legions, and charge home

Marcia. Alas, poor youth! How will thy coldness raise

Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, Tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom! May reach his heart, and free the world I dread the consequence.

from bondage. Lucia. You seem to plead

Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help; Against your brother Portius.

Rise and revenge her slaughter'd citizens, Marcia. Lucia, no;

Or share their fate;Had Portius been the unsuccessful lover, To battle! The same compassion would have fall'n on him. Great Pompey's shade complains that we ara Lucia. Portius himself oft falls in tears be

slow; And Scipio's ghost walks unreveng'd amongst us.

siuk away

upon him.

fore me,

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