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If then to all men Happiness was meant, When the loose mountain trembles from on high, God in Externals could not place content. Shall gravitation cease, if you go by?

Fortune her gifts may variously dispołe, Or fome old temple, nodding to its fail, And these be happy callid, unhappy those ; For Chartres' head reserve the hanging wall ? Bat Heaven's just balance equal will appear,

But still this world (so fitted for the knave) While those are plac'd in hope, and there in fear : Contents us not. A better thall we have? Not present goud or ill, the joy or curte; A kingdom of the just then let it be: But future views of better, cr of worle. But first consider how those just agree.

Oh, fons of earth! attempt ye still to rise, The good must merit God's peculiar care ; By mountains pild on mountains, to the skies? But who, but God, can tell us who they are? Heaven still with laughter the vaju toil farvey's, One thinks, on Calvin Heaven's own Spirit fell; And buries madınen in the heaps they raite. Another dcerns him instrument of hell.

Know, all the good that individuals find, If Calvin feel Heaven's bleffing, or its rod, Or God and nature meant to mere mankind, This cries there is, and that, there is no God. Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, What thocks one part will edify the rest, Lie in three words, Health, Peace, and Compe- Nor with one system can they all be bleft. But health consists with temperance alone; (tence: The very best will variously incline, And peace, oh virtuc! peace is all thy own. And what rewards your virtue, punish minc, The good or bad the gifts of fortune gain ; Whatever is, is right.—This world, 'tis true, But these less taste them, as they worle obtain. Was made for Cæsar-but for Tirus too ; Say, in pursuit of profit or delight,

and which more blett? who chain d his country, Who risk the moit, that take wrong means or Or he whole virtue ligh'd to lose a day? (say, right?

“ But sometimes virtue farves while vice is Of vice or virtue, whether bleft or curst,

“ fed." Which meets contempt, or which compassion first? What then? Is the reward of virtue bread ? Count all th' advantage proip'rous vice attains, That vice may merit, 'tis the price of toil; 'Tis but what Virtue flies froin, and disdains; The knave deserves it when he tills thc foil. And grant the bad what happiness they wou'd, The knave deferves it when he tempts the main, One they must want, which is, to pass for good. Where folly fights for kings, or dives for gain. Oh blind to truth, and God's whole Icheme below, The good man may be wcak, be indolent; Who fancy bliss to vice, to virtue woe! Nor is his claiin to plenty, but content. Who sees and follows that great scheme the best, But grant him riches, your demand is o'er? B-st knows the blesling, and will most be blett. • No-hall the good want health, the good want But fools the good alone unhappy call,

pow'r For ills or accidents that chance to all.

Add hcalih and pow'r, and ev'ry earthly thing, See Falkland dies, the virtuous ad the just! Why bounded pow'r? why private : why no See godlike Turenne prostrate on the duit! Nay, why external for intcrnal giv'n? [king." See Sydney bleeds amid the martial ftrife! Why is not man a god, and carth a heaven? Was this their virtue, or contempi of life? Who ask and reason thus, will scarce conceive Say, was it virtue. more tho' Heaven ne'er gave, God gives enough, while he has more to give ; Lamented Digby! sunk thee to the grave ?

Immeuse the pow'r, immense were the demand; Tell if virtue made the son expire,

Say, at what part of nature will they stand?
Why, full of days and honour, lives the fire? What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,
Why drew Marseilles' good bishop purer breath, The soul's calm tunthine, and the heart-felt joy,
When Nature ficken'd, and each gale was death: Is virtuc's prize: a better would you
Or why so long (in life if long can be ) Then give humility a coach and lix,
Lent Heaven a parent to the poor and me? Justice a conqu’ror's Tivord, or truth a gown,

What makes all physical or moral ill? Or public spirit its great cure, a crown.
There deviates nature, and here wanders will. Wtak, foolish man! will heaven reward us there
God fends not ill; if rightly understood, With the same trash mad mortals with for here:
Or partial ill is universal good,

Thc boy and man an individual makes,
Or change admits, or nature lets it fall,

Yet righ'st thou now for apples and for cakes ) Short, and but rare, till man improv'd it all. Go, like the Indian, in another life We just as wisely might of Heaven coinplain, Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife ; That righteous Abel was destroy'd by Cain, As well as dream such trifes are allign'd, As that the virtuous fon is still at case

As toys and empires, for a godlike mind: When his lewd father gave the dire discase. Rewards, that either would to virtue bring Think we, like some weak prince, th' Eternal No joy, or be destructive of the thing: Cause

How oft by these at sixty are undone Prone for his fav'rites to reverse his laws? The virtues of a saint at twenty-one !

Shall burning Ætna, if a fage requires, To whom can riches give repute, or trust, Forget to thunder, and recal her fires ?

Content or pleasure, but the good and just ? On air or sea new motions be impreft,

Judges and senates have been bought for gold ; Oh blameless Bethel! to relieve thy brcalt? Eficem and love were never to be fold.






Oh tool! to think God hates the worthy mind, When what t'oblivion better were resign'd,
The lover, and the love of human kind, Is hung on high, to poison half mankind.
Whose life is healthful, and whose conscience clear, All fame is foreign, but of true defert;
Because he wants a thousand pounds a year. Plavs round the head, but comes not to the heart :

Honour and shame from no condition rise; One felf-approving hour whole years outweighs
Act well your part, there all the honour lies. Of Itupid itarers, and of loud húzzas;
Fortunc in men has some small diff'rence made; And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels,
One flaunts in rags, one Mutters in brocade : Than Cæfar with a fcnate at his heels.
The cobler apron'd, and the parson gown'd, In patts superior what advantage lies?
The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd. Tell (for you can) what is it to be wife?
" What differ more (you cry) than crown and 'Tis but to know how little can be known;
" cowl?"

To see all others' faults, and feel our own : I 'll tell you, friend; a wise man and a fool. Condemn'd in business or in arts to drudge, You 'll find, if once the inonarch acts the monk, Without a second, or without a judge. Or, cobler-like, the parson will be drunk, Truths would you teach, or save a linking land? Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow: All fear, none aid you, and few understand. The relt is all but leather or prunella. (ftrings. Painful pre-eminence ! yourself to view

Stuck o'er with titles, and hung round with Above life's weakness, and its comforts too. That thou may st be by kings, or whores of kings, Bring then these blettings to a strict account ; Boaft che pure blood of an illustrious race, Make fair deductions ; see to what they mount: In quiet How from Lucrece to Lucrece : How much of other each is sure to cost; But by your fathers' worth if yours you rate, How each for other oft is wholly loft ; Count me those only who were good and great. How inconsistent greater goods with these; Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood Ilow sometimes life is risqu'd, and always case : Has crepe thro' scoundrels ever since the flood, Think, and if still the things thy envy call, Go! and pretend your family is young; Say, wouldit thou be the man to whom they fall? Nor own your fathers have been fools so long. To figh for ribbands, if thou art fo filly, What can ennoble fots, or llaves, or cowards? Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy! Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards. Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life? Look next on greatness; say where greatness Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife ! lies?

If parts allure thee, think how Bacon Thin'd, “ Where, but among the heroes and the wife ?”' | The wiseft, brightest, meancft of mankind ! Heroes are much the same, the point 's agreed, Or ravish'd with the whistling of a name, From Macedonia's madınan to the Swede; See Cromwell, damn'd to everlasting fame! The whole strange purpose of their lives, to find If all, united, thy ambition call, Or make, an enemy of all mankind !

From ancient story learn to scorn them all. Nor one looks backward, onward fill he goes, There, in the rich, the honour'd, fam'd, and Ver pe'er looks forward further than his noie.

great, No less alike the politic and wise;

See the false scale of happiness complete ! All fly, Now things, with circumspective eyes : In hearts of kinys, or arms of queens who lay, Men in their loose unguarded hours they take, How happy those to ruin, these betray. Not that themselves are wise, but others weak. Mark by what wretched steps their glory grows, But grant that those can conquer, these can cheat; from dirt and sca-weed as proud Venice role; 'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great : In each how guilt and greatness equal ran, Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,

And all that rais'd the hero funk the man : Is but the more a fool, the more a knave. Now Europe's laurels on their brows behold, Who noble ends by noble means obtains, But stain'd with blood, or ill exchang d for gold: Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains,

Then see them broke with roils, or lunk in eale, Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed Or infamous for plunder'd provinces. Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. Oh wealth ill-fated ! which no act of fame

What's faine: a fancy'd life in other's breath; E'er taught to thine, or fanctified from thame! A thing beyond us, evin before our death. What greatcr blifs attends their close of life? Just what you hear, you have, and what's unknown Some greedy minion, or imperious wife, The fame (my Lord) if Tully's, or your own. The trophied arches, storied halls invade, All that we feel of it begins and ends

And haunt their numbers in the pompous Made. In the small circle of our focs or friends; Alas! pot dazzled with their noon-tide ray, To all befide as much an empty Shade

Compute the morn and ev'ning to the day ; An Eugene living, as a Cæsar dead;

The whole amount of that enormous fame, Alike or when, or where, they thone, or thine, A tale, that blends their glory with their shame! Or on the Rubicon or on the Rhine.

Know then this truth-(enough for man to A wit 's a feather, and a chief a rod;

know) An honest man 's the noblest work of God. “ Virtuc alone is happiness below." Fame but from death a villain's name can save, The only point where human bliss stands ftill, As justice tears his body from the grave; And faltes the good without the fall to ill: 9

Where $ 17.

Where only merit constant pay receives, And while the Muse now ftoops, or now afcends, Is bleit in what it takes, and what it gives i To inan's low pallions, or their glorious ends, The joy unequallid, if its end ie gain;

Teaclı me, like thee, in various nature wite, And if it lotë, attended with no pain : To fall with dignity, with cempcr rise; Without fatiety, tho' e'er so bleft,

Form'd by thy converse, happily to steer And but more relith'd as the more diftreft ; From grave to gay, from lively to levere; The broadest mirth unfecling folly wears, Correćt with fpirit, eloquent with cafe, Less pleasing far ihan virtue's very tears: Intent to reafun, or polite to please. Good, from each object, from each place acquir'd, Oh! while along the ftream of time thy name For ever exercis'd, yet never tir'd;

Expanded Hies, and gathers all its fame, Never elated while one man 's opprest; Say, thall my little bark attendant fail, Never dejected while another 's bleft;

Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale? And where no wants, no wishes can remain, When statelinen, heroes, kings, in duit repose, Since but to wish more virtuc, is to gain. Whöfe fons shall blush their fathers were thy focs,

See the sole bliss Heaven could on all bestow! Shall then this verse to future age pretend Which who but feels can tafte, but thinks can Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend? know !

That, urg'd by thee, I turn'd the tuneful art, Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind, From founds to things, from fancy to the heart; The bad must miss, the good, untaught, will find, For wit's false mirror held up nature's light; Slave to no feet, who takes no private road, Shew'd erring pride, whatever is, is right; But looks, through nature, up to nature's God; That reason, paflion, antwer one great aim ; Pursues that chain which links th' immense That true felf-love and social are the same; design,

That virtue only makes our blits below; Joins heaven and earth, and mortal and divine ; And all our knowledge is, ourielves to know. Sees chat no being any bliss can know, But touches some above, and some below ; Learns, from this union of the rising whole,

Moral Essays. In Four Epiftles. Popek The first, last purpose of the human soul;'

To Sir Richard Temple, L. Cobham. And knows where faith, law, morals, all began, All end, in love of God, and love of man.

EPISTLE I. For him alone, hope leads from goal to goal, YES, you despise the inan to books confin'd, And opens ftill, and opens on his soul;

Who from his study rails at human kind; Till lengthcn'd on to faith, and unconfin’d, Tho' what he learns he lpeaks, and may advance It pours the bliss that fills up all the mind. Some gen’ral maxims, or be right by chance. He sees why nature plants in man alone The coxcomb bird, so talkative and grave, Hope of known bliks, and faith in bliss unknown. That froin his cage cries Cuckold, Whore, and (Nature, whose dictates to no other kind Tho' many a paffenger he rightly call, [Knave, Are giv'n in vain, but what they seek they find) You hold hiin no Philofopher at all. Wise is her present; she connects in this



the fate of all extremes is such, His greatest virtue with his greatest bliss ; Men may be read, as well as Books, too much. At once his own bright prospect to be blest, To observations which ourselves we make, And strongest motive to affiti the rest.

We grow inore partial for th' observer's fake; Self-love thus puth'd to focial, to divine, To wricten wisdom, as another's, less : Gives thee to make thy neighbour's blessing thine. Maxims are drawn from notions, thcle from guess, Is this too little for the boundless heart ? There's fuine peculiar in each leaf and grain, Extend it, let thy enemies have part;

Some unmark'd fibre, or some varying vein; Grasp the whole worlds of reason, life, and sense, Shald only man be taken in the grofs ? In one close fyftem of benevolence :

Grant but as many sorts of mind as moss : Happier as kinder, in whate'er degree,

That each from other differs, first confess : And height of bliss but height of charity. Next, that he varies from himself no lefs ;

God loves from whole to parts: bue human souls Add nature's, custom's, reason's, paffion's ftrife, . Must rise from individual to the whole. And all opinion's colours cast on life. Self-love but ferves the virtuous mind to wake, Our depths who fathoms, or our hallows finds, As the finall pebble stirs the peaceful lake; Quick whirls, and thifting eddies of our minds ? The centre mov'd, a circle straight fucceeds, On human actions reason tho' you can, Another still, and still another spreads;

It may be reason, but it is not man : Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace; His principle of action once explore, His country next; and next all human race; Thai instant 'tis his principle no more. Wide and more wide, th'o'erflowings of the mind Like following life, thro' creatures you diffect, Take ev'ry creature in, of ev'ry kind;

You lofe it in the moment you detect. Earth (miles around, with boundless bounty bleft, Yet more; the diff'rence is as great between And heaven beholds its image in his brcast. The optics feeing, as the objects seen.

Come then, my friend ! my genius! come along; All manners take a tincture from our own; Oh master of the poet, and the fong!

Or come discolour'd through our passions shown.


Or fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies,

In vain the fage, with retrospective eye, Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes. Would from th’apparent What conclude the Why,

Nor will lite's Aream for observation itay ; Infer the Motive from the Deed, and shew It hurrics all too fast to mark their way : That what we chanc'd was what we meant to do. In vain fedate reflections we would make, Behold ! if Fortune or a Mistress frowns, When half our knowledge we must snatch, not some plunge in business, others thave their crowr.s: Oft in the passions' wild rotation tost, (take. To cale the soul of one oppressive weight, Our spring of action to ourselves is loft : This quits an Empire, that embroils a State; Tir’d, not deterinin'd, to the last we yield; The same adust complexion has impellid And what comes then is master of the field. Charles to the Convent, Philip to the Field. As the lait image of that troubled heap, Not always Actions fhew the man; we find When sense subsides, and fancy sports in Neep Who does a kindness, is not therefore kind : (Tho' past the recollection of the thought), Perhaps Prosperity becalm'd his breaft, Becomes the stuff of which our dream is wrought: Perhaps the Wind just thifted from the East. Something as dim to our internal view,

Not therefore humble he who seeks reireat, Is thus, perhaps, the cause of most we do. Pride guides his fieps, and bids him thun the great.

True, some are open, and to all men known; Who combats bravely is not therefore brave; Others so very close, they 're hid from none: He dreads a death-bed like the mcaneft flase: (So darkness strikes the sense no less than light) Who reasons wisely is r.ot therefore wise ; Thus gracious Chandos is belov’d at light; His pride in Reas'ning, not in Alting, lies. And ev'ry child hates Shylock, tho' his soul But grant that actions beft discover man; Still fits at squat, and peep's not from its hole. Take the most strong, and sort them as you can. At half inankind when gen’rous Manly raves, The few that glare, cach character must mark; All know 'tis virtue, for he thinks them knaves. You balance not the many in the dark. When univerial homage C'mbra pays,

What will you do with such as disagree? All see 'tis vice, and itch of vulgar praise. Suppress them, or miscall them policy? When flatt’ry glares, all hate it in a queen, Muit ihon at once (the character to save) While one there is who charms us with his fpleen. The plain rough Hero turn a crafty Krave:

But these plain characters we rarely find : Alas! in truth the man but chang'd his mind; Tho’strong the bent, yet quick the turns of mind : Perhaps was fick, in love, or had not din’d. Or pizzling contraries confound the whole; Ask why from Britain Cæsar would retreat ? Or Affectations quite reverse the foul.

Cælar himself might whisper, he was beat. The dull, fat falsehood serves for policy : Why risk the World's great einpire for a Punk? And in the cunning, truth itself 's a lye: Calár perhaps might antwer, he was drunk. Unthought-of frailties cheat us in the wife : But, fage historians! 'tis your task to prove, The fool lies hid in inconsistencies.

One action Conduct ; one, heroic Love. See the same man, in vigour, in the gout; . 'Tis from high life high characters are drawn; Alone, in company; in place, or out;

A Saint in Crape is twice a Saint in Lawn : Early a: bulinets, and at hazard late ;

A Judge is juft, a Chanc'lor jufter still; Mad at a fox-chace, wife at a debate;

A Gownman, learn'd; a Bishop, what you will; Drunk ai a borough, civil at a ball;

Wise, if a Minister; but, if a King, [tbirg. Friendly at Hackney, faithless at Whitehall. More wile, more learn'd, more just, more eviy Catius is ever moral, ever grave,

Court-Virtues beer, like Gems, the highest rate, Thinks, who endures a knave is next a knave, Born where Heav'n's influence scarce can pencSave just at dinner-then prefers, no doubt, A rogue with ven’son to a faint without. In life's low vale, the soil the Virtues like,

Who would not praise Patricio's high desert, They please as beauties, here as wonders ítrike. His hand unstain'd, his uncorrupted heart, Tho' the fame fun with all diffufive rays His comprehensive head! all int'retts weigh'd, Blush in the Rose, and in the Diamond blaze, All Europe fav'd, yet Britain not betray'd. We prize the stronger effort of his pow'r, He thanks you not, his pride is in piquette, And juftly let the Gem above the Flow'r. Newmarket-fame, and judgment at a bett. 'Tis Education forms the common mind; What made (say Montaigne, or more fagcCharron!) | Just as the twig is bent, the tree 's inclin d. Otho a warı jor, Cromwell a buffoon?

Boaftful and rough, your fust fon is a 'Squire ; A perjur'd prince a leaden faint revere, The next a Tradesman, meck, and much a liar; A godless regeit tremble at a star ?

Tom struts a Soldier, open, bcld, and brave; The throne a bigot keep, a genius quit, Will sneaks a Scriv'ner, av exceeding knave: Faithless thro' piety, and dup'd thro' sit? Is he a Churchman? then he's fond of pow'r; Ewope a woman, child, or dotard rule, A Quaker? lly; a Presbyterian? four; And just her witeit monarch made a fool? A finart Frec-thinker: all things in an hour. Know, God and Nature only are the famc: Ask men's Opinions : Scoto now Ihall tell

the judgment shoots at flying game ; How Trade increases, and the world goes well; A bird of paisage! gone as soon as found ; Strike off his Penfion, by the setting fun, Now in the moon perhaps, now under ground. And Britain, if not Europe, is undone.





In man,

That gay Free-thinker, a fine talker once, Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand, What turns him now a stupid silent dunce ? Yet tames not this; it sticks to our last land. Some God, or Spirit, he has lately found : Consistent in our follies and our sins, Or chanc'd to meet a minifter that frown d. Here honest Nature ends as the begins.

Judge we by Nature? Habit can efface, Old Politicians chew on wisdom past,
Int'rest o'ercome, or Policy take place :

And totter on in business to the last;
By A&tions? those Uncertainty divides ; As weak, as earneft; and as gravely out,
By Passions? these Dillimulation hides : As sober Lanelb'row dancing in the gout.
Opinions? they still take a wider range:

Behold a rev'rend fire, whom want of grace Find, if you can, in what you cannot change. Has made the father of a nameless race, Manners with Fortunes, Humours turn with Shov'd from the wall perhaps, or rudely prest Clines,

By his own fon, that passes by unbleft: Tenets with Books, and Principles with Times. Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees,

Scarch then the Ruling Pation : There, alone, And envies ev'ry sparrow that he sees. The Wild are constant, and the Cunning known; A falınon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate ; The Fool confiftent, and the False sincere; The doctor call d, declares all help too late : Priests, Princes, Women, no dissemblers here. “ Mercy !” cries Helluo,“ mercy on my soul! This clue once found, unravels all the rest, “ Is there no hope ?--Alas! then bring the jowl." The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confeft. The frugal crone, whom praying pricfts attend, Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, Still strives to save the hallow'd taper's end, Whose ruling pallion was the Luft of Praise : Collects her breath as ebbing life retires, Born with whate’er could win it from the wise, For one puff more, and in that puff expires. Women and Fools must like him, or he dies : “ Odions ! in woollen! 'rwould a faint provoke, Tho' wond'ring Senates hung on all he spoke, (Were the lait words that poor Narcissa spoke) The Club must hail him, Master of the joke. “ No, let a charining chintz and Bruffels lace Shall parts so various aim at nothing new? “Wrap my cold limbs, and fhade my lifeless face: He'R Mine a Tully and a Wilmot too : “ One would not, fure, be frightful when one's Then turns repentant, and his God adores

“ dead With the fame fpirit that he drinks and whores; “ And-Betty-give this cheek a little red." Enough if all around him but admire,

The courtier fmooth, who forty years had shin'd And now the Punk applaud, and now the Friar An humble servant to all human kind, Thus with each gift of nature and of art, Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could And wanting nothing but an honest heart;

ftir, Grown all to all, from no one vice cxempt; “ If-where I'm going--I could serve you, Sir?" And most contemptible co thun contempt; * I give and I devile” (old Euclio laid, His paffion still to covet gen’ral praise,

And figli'd) “ my lands and tenements to Ned." His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways;

Your money, Sir :-" My money, Sir, what all? A constant bounty which no friend has made; Why-if I must-(then wept) I give it Paul." An Angel Tongue, which no man can persuade; The manor, Sir?--"The manor i hold," he cried, A Fool, with more of Wit than half mankind, “ Not that,- I cannot part with that"--and died. *Too ralh for Thought, for A&tion coo refia’d: And you, brale Cobham, to the latest breath, A Tyrant to the wife his heart approves ; Shall feel your ruling pailion strong in death : A Rebel to the very king he loves ;

Such in thole moments as in all the past, He dies, sad outcast of each church and state, “ Oh save my country, Heavea!” shall be you And, harder till ! fagitious, yet not great.

lalt. Ask you why Wharton broke thro' ev'ry rule :

'Twas all for fear the Knaves thould call him

To a Lady.
Nature well known, no prodigies remain,
Comets are regular, and Wharton plain.

of the Characters of }l'omen. Yet, in this search, the wiscft may miitake, NOTHING so truc as what you once ler fall, If second qualities for first they rake.

Most women have no characters at all." When Catiline by rapine Tweli'd his store ; Macter too loft a lasting mark to bear, When Cæsar made a noble dame a whore; And best diftinguith'd by black, brown, or fair. In this the Luft, in that the Avarice

How many pictures of one nymph we view,
Were means, not ends; Ambition was the vice. All how unlike cach orher, all how true!
That very Cæsar, born Scipio’s days, Arcadia's countess, here, in crmin d pride,
Had aim'd, like him, by Chaltity, at praile. Is there Pastora by a fountain fide.
Lucullus, wlien frugality could charm, Here Fannia, Icering on her own good man ;
Had roasted turnips in the Sabin farm.

And there a paked Leda with a fian.
In vain th' observer eyes the builder's toil; Let then the fair one beautifully cry,
But quite mistakes the scaffold for the pile. In Magdalene's loole hair and lifted eye,
In this one pallion man can strength enjoy,

Or dre't in imiles of livett Cecilia thine,
As Fits give vigour just when they destroy. With fimpring angols, palms, and harps divine;


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