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WOLSEY. Peace to your Highness! |
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QUEEN KATHARINE. Your Graces find me here part of housewife; |
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I would be all, against the worst may happen. |
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What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? |
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WOLSEY. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw |
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Into your private chamber, we shall give you |
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The full cause of our coming. |
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QUEEN KATHARINE. Speak it here; |
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There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, |
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Deserves a corner. Would all other women |
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Could speak this with as free a soul as I do! |
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My lords, I care not—so much I am happy |
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Above a number—if my actions |
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Were tried by ev'ry tongue, ev'ry eye saw 'em, |
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Envy and base opinion set against 'em, |
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I know my life so even. If your business |
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Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, |
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Out with it boldly; truth loves open dealing. |
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WOLSEY. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina |
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| serenissima— |
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QUEEN KATHARINE. O, good my lord, no Latin! |
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I am not such a truant since my coming, |
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As not to know the language I have liv'd in; |
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A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious; |
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Pray speak in English. Here are some will thank you, |
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If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake: |
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Believe me, she has had much wrong. Lord Cardinal, |
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The willing'st sin I ever yet committed |
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May be absolv'd in English. |
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WOLSEY. Noble lady, |
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I am sorry my integrity should breed, |
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And service to his Majesty and you, |
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So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant |
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We come not by the way of accusation |
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To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, |
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Nor to betray you any way to sorrow— |
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You have too much, good lady; but to know |
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How you stand minded in the weighty difference |
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Between the King and you, and to deliver, |
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Like free and honest men, our just opinions |
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And comforts to your cause. |
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CAMPEIUS. Most honour'd madam, |
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My Lord of York, out of his noble nature, |
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Zeal and obedience he still bore your Grace, |
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Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure |
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Both of his truth and him—which was too far— |
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Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, |
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His service and his counsel. |
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QUEEN KATHARINE.[Aside]To betray me.— |
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My lords, I thank you both for your good wins; |
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Ye speak like honest men—pray God ye prove so! |
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But how to make ye suddenly an answer, |
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In such a point of weight, so near mine honour, |
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More near my life, I fear, with my weak wit, |
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And to such men of gravity and learning, |
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In truth I know not. I was set at work |
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Among my maids, full little, God knows, looking |
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Either for such men or such business. |
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For her sake that I have been—for I feel |
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The last fit of my greatness—good your Graces, |
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Let me have time and counsel for my cause. |
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Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless! |
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WOLSEY. Madam, you wrong the King's love with these fears; |
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Your hopes and friends are infinite. |
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QUEEN KATHARINE. In England |
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But little for my profit; can you think, lords, |
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That any Englishman dare give me counsel? |
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Or be a known friend, 'gainst his Highness' pleasure— |
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Though he be grown so desperate to be honest— |
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And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, |
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They that must weigh out my afflictions, |
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They that my trust must grow to, live not here; |
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They are, as all my other comforts, far hence, |
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In mine own country, lords. |
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CAMPEIUS. I would your Grace |
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Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. |
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QUEEN KATHARINE. How, sir? |
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CAMPEIUS. Put your main cause into the King's protection; |
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He's loving and most gracious. 'Twill be much |
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Both for your honour better and your cause; |
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For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye |
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You'll part away disgrac'd. |
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WOLSEY. He tells you rightly. |
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QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye tell me what ye wish for both—my ruin. |
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Is this your Christian counsel? Out upon ye! |
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Heaven is above all yet: there sits a Judge |
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That no king can corrupt. |
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CAMPEIUS. Your rage mistakes us. |
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QUEEN KATHARINE. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye, |
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Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; |
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But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye. |
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Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? |
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The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady— |
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A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd? |
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I will not wish ye half my miseries: |
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I have more charity; but say I warned ye. |
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Take heed, for heaven's sake take heed, lest at once |
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The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. |
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WOLSEY. Madam, this is a mere distraction; |
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You turn the good we offer into envy. |
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QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye, |
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And all such false professors! Would you have me— |
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If you have any justice, any pity, |
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If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits— |
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Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? |
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Alas! has banish'd me his bed already, |
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His love too long ago! I am old, my lords, |
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And all the fellowship I hold now with him |
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Is only my obedience. What can happen |
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To me above this wretchedness? All your studies |
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Make me a curse like this. |
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CAMPEIUS. Your fears are worse. |
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QUEEN KATHARINE. Have I liv'd thus long—let me speak myself, |
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Since virtue finds no friends—a wife, a true one? |
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A woman, I dare say without vain-glory, |
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Never yet branded with suspicion? |
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Have I with all my full affections |
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Still met the King, lov'd him next heav'n, obey'd him, |
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Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him, |
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Almost forgot my prayers to content him, |
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And am I thus rewarded? 'Tis not well, lords. |
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Bring me a constant woman to her husband, |
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One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure, |
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And to that woman, when she has done most, |
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Yet will I add an honour—a great patience. |
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WOLSEY. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. |
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QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, |
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To give up willingly that noble title |
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Your master wed me to: nothing but death |
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Shall e'er divorce my dignities. |
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WOLSEY. Pray hear me. |
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QUEEN KATHARINE. Would I had never trod this English earth, |
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Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! |
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Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. |
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What will become of me now, wretched lady? |
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I am the most unhappy woman living. |
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[To her WOMEN]
Alas, poor wenches, where are now
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your fortunes? |
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Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, |
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No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me; |
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Almost no grave allow'd me. Like the lily, |
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That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, |
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I'll hang my head and perish. |
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WOLSEY. If your Grace |
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Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, |
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You'd feel more comfort. Why should we, good lady, |
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Upon what cause, wrong you? Alas, our places, |
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The way of our profession is against it; |
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We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em. |
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For goodness' sake, consider what you do; |
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How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly |
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Grow from the King's acquaintance, by this carriage. |
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The hearts of princes kiss obedience, |
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So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits |
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They swell and grow as terrible as storms. |
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I know you have a gentle, noble temper, |
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A soul as even as a calm. Pray think us |
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Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants. |
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CAMPEIUS. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues |
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With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit, |
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As yours was put into you, ever casts |
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Such doubts as false coin from it. The King loves you; |
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Beware you lose it not. For us, if you please |
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To trust us in your business, we are ready |
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To use our utmost studies in your service. |
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QUEEN KATHARINE. Do what ye will my lords; and pray |
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forgive me |
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If I have us'd myself unmannerly; |
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You know I am a woman, lacking wit |
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To make a seemly answer to such persons. |
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Pray do my service to his Majesty; |
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He has my heart yet, and shall have my prayers |
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While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, |
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Bestow your counsels on me; she now begs |
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That little thought, when she set footing here, |
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She should have bought her dignities so dear. |
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| Exeunt |
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