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Nathelesse she, full of wrath for that late stroke, When Glaucè thus gan wisely all upknit;
All that long while upheld her wrathfull hand, “Yegentle knights, whom fortune here hath brought
With fell intent on him to bene ywroke;

To be spectators of this uncouth fit,
And, looking sterne, still over him did stand, Which secret fate hath in this ladie wrought
Threatning to strike unlesse he would withstand; Against the course of kind, ne mervaile nought;
And bad bim rise, or surely he should die.

Ne thenceforth feare the thing that hethertoo But, die or live, for nought he would upstand; Hath troubled both your mindes with idle thought, But her of pardon prayd more earnestlie,

Fearing least she your loves away should woo; Or wreake on him her will for so great iniurie. Feared in vaine, sith meanes ye see there wants

theretoo. Which whenas Scudamour, who now abrayd, Beheld, whereas he stood not farre aside,

“ And you, sir Artegall, the Salvage Knight, He was therewith right wondrously dismayd;

Henceforth may not disdaine that womans hand And drawing nigh, whenas he plaine descride

Hath conquered you anew in second fight: That peerelesse paterne of dame Natures pride

For whylome they have conquered sea, and land, And heavenly image of perfection,

And Heaven itselfe, that wought may them withstand: He blest himselfe as one sore terrifide;

Ne henceforth be rebellious unto love, And, turning feare to faint devotion,

That is the crowne of knighthood and the band

Of noble minds derived from above, Did worship her as some celestiall vision.

Which, being knit with vertue, never will remove. But Glaucè, seeing all that chaunced there,

“ And you, faire ladie knight, my dearest dame, Well weeting how their errour to assoyle,

Relent the rigour of your wrathfull will, Full glad of so good end, to them drew nere,

Whose fire were better turn'd to other flame; And her salewd with seemely bel-accoyle,

And, wiping out remembrance of all ill, Ioyous to see her safe after long toyle:

Graunt him your grace ; but so that he fulfill Then her besought, as she to her was deare,

The penance which ye shall to him empart: To graunt unto those warriours truce awhyle;

For lovers Heaven must passe by sorrowes Hell." Which yeelded, they their bevers up did reare,

Thereat full inly blushed Britomart; And shew'd themselves to her such as indeed they But Artegall close-smyling ioy'd in secret hart.

Yet durst he not make love so suddenly, When Britomart with sharpe avizefull eye

Ne thinke th' affection of her hart to draw Beheld the lovely face of Artegall

From one to other so quite contrary: Tempred with sternesse and stout maiestie,

Besides her modest countenance he saw She gan eftsoones it to her mind to call

So goodly grave, and full of princely aw, To be the same which, in her fathers hall,

That it his ranging fancie did refraine, Long since in that enchaunted glasse ske saw:

And looser thoughts to lawfull bounds withdraw; Therewith her wrathfull courage gan appall,

Whereby the passion grew more fierce and faine, And baughtie spirits meekely to adaw, [draw. Like to a stubborne steede whom strong hand would That her enhaunced hand she downe can soft with

restraine. Yet she it forst to have againe upheld,

But Scudamour, whose hart twixt doubtfull feare As fayning choler which was turn'd to cold :

And feeble hope hung all this while suspence, But ever, when his visage she beheld,

Desiring of his Amoret to heare
Her hand fell downe, and world no longer hold Some gladfull newes and sare intelligence,
The wrathfull weapon gainst his countnance bold:

Her thus bespake; “ But, sir, without offence But, when in vaine to fight she oft assayd,

Mote I request you tydings of my love, She arm’d her tongue, and thought at him to scold: My Amoret, sith you her freed fro thence Nathlesse her tongue not to her will obayd,

Where she, captived long, great woes did prove; But brought forth speeches myld when she would That where ye left I may her seeke, as doth behove." have missayd.

To whom thus Britomart; “ Certes, sir Knight, But Scudamour now woxen inly glad

What is of her become, or whether reft,
That all his gealous feare he false had found, I cannot unto you aread aright.
And how that hag his love abused had

For from that time I from eńchaunters theft With breach of faith and loyaltie unsound, Her freed, in which ye her all hopelesse left, The which long time his grieved hart did wound, I her preserv'd from perill and from feare, He thus bespake; “ Certes, sir Artegall,

And evermore from villenie her kept : I joy to see you lout so low on ground,

Ne ever was there wight to me more deare And now become to live a ladies thrall, [all.” Then she, ne unto whom I more true love did beare: That whylome in your minde wont to despise them

“ 'Till on a day, as through a desert wyld Soone as she heard the name of Artegall,

We travelled, both wearie of the way Her hart did leape, and all her heart-strings tremble, We did alight, and sate in shadow myld; For sudden joy and secret feare withall;

Where fearelesse I to sleepe me downe did lay: And all her vitall powres, with motion nimble But, whenas I did out of sleepe abray, To succour it, themselves gan there assemble ; I found her not where I her left whyleare, That by the swift recourse of flushing blood But thought she wandred was, or gone astray: Right plaine appeard, though she it would dissemble, I cald her loud, I sought her farre and neare; And fayned still her former angry mood,

But no where could her find, nor tydings of her Thinking to hide the depth by troubling of the flood.

heare."

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When Scndamour those heavie tydings heard, With which she for the present was appeased,
His hart was thrild with point of deadly feare, And yeelded leave, however malcontent
Ne in his face or bloud or life appeard;

She inly were and in her mind displeased.
But senselesse stood, like to a mazed steare So, early on the morrow next, he went
That yet of mortall stroke the stound doth beare: Forth on his way to which he was ybent;
Till Glaucè thus; “ Paire sir, be nought dismayd Ne wight him to attend, or way to guide,
With needlesse dread, till certaintie ye heare; As whylome was the custome ancient
For yet she may be safe though somewhat strayd: Mongst knights when on adventures they did ride,
Its best to hope the best, though of the worst affrayd.” Save that she algates hin a while accompanide.
Nathelesse he hardly of ber chearefull speech And by the way she sundry purpose found
Did comfort take, or in his troubled sight

Of this or that, the time for to delav,
Shew'd change of better cheare; so sore a breach And of the perils whereto he was bound,
That sudden newes had made into his spright; The feare whereof seem'd much her to affray:
Till Britomart him fairely thus behight;

But all she did was but to weare ont day.
" Great cause of sorrow certes, sir, ye have; Full oftentimes she leare of him did take;
But comfort take; for, by this Heavens light, And eft againe deviz'd somewhat to say,
I vow you dead or living not to leave,

Which she forgot, whereby excuse to make :
Till her find, and wreake on him that did her reave." So loth she was his companie for to forsake.
Therewith he rested, and well pleased was. At last when all her speeches she had spent,
So, peace being confirin'd amongst them all, And new occasion fayld her more to find,
They tooke their steeds, and forward thence did pas She left him to his fortunes government,
Unto some resting place, which mote befall; And backe returned with right heavie mind
All being guided by sir Artegall:

To Scudamour, whom she had left behind;
Where goodly solace was unto them made, With whom she went to seeke faire Amoret,
And dayly feasting both in bowre and hall,

Her second care, though in another kind: Untill that they their wounds well healed had, For vertues onely sake, which doth beget And wearie limmes recurd after late usage pad. True love and faithfull friendship, she by her did set. In all which time sir Artegall made way

Backe to that desert forrest they retyred, Unto the love of noble Britomart,

Where sorie Britomart had lost her late : And with meeke service and much suit did lay There they her sought, and every where inquired Continuall siege unto her gentle hart;

Where they might tydings get of her estate; Which, being whylome launcht with lovely dart, Yet found they none. But, by what haplesse fate More eath was new impression to receive;

Or hard misfortune she was thence convayd,
However she her paynd with womanish art And stolne away from her beloved mate,
To hide her wound, that none might it perceive: Were long to tell; therefore I here will stay
Vaine is the art that seekes itselfe for to deceive. Untill another tyde, that I it finish may,
So well he woo'd her, and so well he wrought her,
With faire entreatie and sweet blandishment,
That at the length unto a bay he brought her,
So as she to his speeches was content
To lend an eare, and softly to relent.

CANTO VII.
At last, through many vowes which forth he pour’d
And many othes, she yeelded her consent

Amoret rapt by greedie Lust
To be his love, and take him for her lord,

Belphebe saves from dread: Till they with marriage meet might finish that ac- The squire her loves; and, being blam'd, cord.

His daies in dole doth lead. Tho, when they had long time there taken rest, Great god of love, that with thy cruell darts Sir Artegall, who all this while was bound

Doest conquer greatest conquerors on ground, Upon an hard adventure yet in quest,

And setst thy kingdome in the captive harts Fit time for bim thence to depart it found, Of kings and Keasars to thy service bound; To follow that which he did long propound; What glorie or what guerdon hast thou found And unto her his congee came to take:

In feeble ladies tyranning so sore,
But her therewith full sore displeasd he found, And adding anguish to the bitter wound -
And loth to leave her late betrothed make; With which their lives thou lanchedst long afore,
Her dearest love full loth so shortly to forsake. By heaping stormes of trouble on them daily more!
Yet he with strong perswasions her asswaged, So whylome didst thou to faire Florimell;
And wonne her will to suffer bim depart;

And so and so to noble Britomart:
For which bis faith with her he fast engaged, So doest thou now to her of whom I tell,
And thousand vowes from bottome of his hart, The lovely Amoret, whose gentle hart
That, all so soone as he by wit or art

Thou martyrest with sorow and with smart,
Could that atchieve whereto he did aspire,

In salvage forrests and in deserts wide He unto her would speedily revert:

With beares and tygers taking heavie part, No longer space thereto he did desire,

Withouten comfort and withouten guide; But till the horned Moone three courses did expire. That pittie is to heare the perils which she tride.

So soone as she with that brave Britonesse With that she heard some one close by her side
Had left that turneyment for beauties prise, Sighing and sobbing sore, as if the paine
They travel'd long; that now for wearinesse, Her tender hart in peeces would divide:
Both of the way and warlike exercise,

Which she long listning, softly askt againe
Both through a forest ryding did devise

What mister wight it was that so did plaine? T'alight, and rest their wearie limbs a while. To whom thus aunswer'd was;“Ah! wretched wight, There heavie sleepe the eye-lids did surprise That seekes to know anothers griefe in vaine, Of Britomart after long tedious toyle,

Unweeting of thine owne like haplesse plight: That did her passed paines in quiet rest assoyle. Selfe to forget to mind another is ore-sight !" The whiles faire Amoret of nought affeard,

“ Aye me!” said she, “ where am I, or with whom? Walkt through the wood, for pleasure or for need,

Emong the living, or emong the dead? When suddenly behind her backe she heard

What shall of me unhappy maid become? One rushing forth out of the thickest weed, Shall death be th’end, or ought else worse, aread." That, ere she backe could turne to taken heed,

“ Unhappy mayd," then answer'd she, “whose Had nnawares her spatched up from ground:

dread Feebly she shriekt, but so feebly indeed

Untride is lesse then when thou shalt it try: That Britomart heard not the shrilling sound,

Death is to him, that wretched life doth lead, There where through weary travel she lay sleeping Both grace aud gaine; but he in Hell doth lie, sound.

That lives a loathed life, and wishing cannot die. It was to weet a wilde and salvage man;

“ This dismall day hath thee a caytive made, Yet was no man, but onely like in shape, And eke in stature higher by a span;

And vassall to the vilest wretch alive; All overgrowne with haire, that could awhape

Whose cursed usage and ungodly trade An hardy hart; and his wide mouth did gape

The Heavens abhorre, and into darkenesse drive; With huge great teeth, like to a tusked bore:

For on the spoile of women he doth lise, For he liv'd all on ravin and on rape

Whose bodies chast, whenever in his powre Of men and beasts; and fed on fleshly gore,

He may them catch unable to gainestrive, The signe whereof yet stain'd his blooudy lips afore. He with his shamefull lust doth first deflowre,

And afterwardes themselves doth cruelly devoure, His neather lip was not like man nor beast, But like a wide deepe poke downe hanging low, “ Now twenty Jaies, by which the sonnes of men In which he wont the relickes of his feast

Divide their workes, have past through Heven sheene, And cruell spoyle, which he had spard, to stow : Since I was brought into this dolefull den; And over it his huge great nose did grow,

During which space these sory eies have seen Full dreadfully empurpled all with bloud;

Seaven women by him slaine and eaten clene: And downe both sides two wide long eares did glow, And now no more for him but I alone, And raught downe to his waste when up he stood, And this old woman, here remaining beene, More great then th’ cares of elephants by Indus Till thou cam’st bither to augment our mone ; food.

And of us three to morrow he will sure eate one." His wast was with a wreath of yvie greene

“ Ah! dreadfull tidings which thou doest declare,” Engirt about, ne other garment wore;

Quoth she, “ of all that ever hath beene knowen! For all his haire was like a garment seene; Full many great calamities and rare And in his hand a tall young oake he bore, This feeble brest endured hath, but none Whose knottie snags were sharpned all afore,

Equall to this, whereever I have gone. And beath'd in fire for steele to be in sted.

But what are you, whom like unlucky lot But wheuce he was, or of what wombe ybore, Hath linckt with me in the same chaine attone?" Of beasts, or of the earth, I have not red;

• To tell,” quoth she, “that which ye see, needs not; But certes was with milke of wolves and tygres fed. A wofull wretched maid, of God and man forgot! This ugly creature in his armes her snatcht,

“ But what I was, it irkes me to reherse; And through the forrest bore her quite away With briers and bushes all to rent and scratcht;

Daughter upto a lord of high degree; Ne care he had, ne pittie of the pray,

That ioyd in happy peace, till Fates perverse Which many a knight had sought so many a day: To overthrow my state and dignitie.

With guilefull Love did seeretly agree
He stayed not, but in his armes her bearing
Ran, till he came to th' end of all his way,

It was my lot to love a gentle swaine,
Unto his cave farre from all peoples hearing,

Yet was he but a squire of low degree; And there be threw her in, nought feeling, ne nought Yet was he meet, unless mine eye did faine, fearing

By any ladies side for leman to have laine. For she (deare ladie) all the way was dead, “ But, for his meannesse and disparagement, Whilest he in armes her bore; but, when she felt My sire, who me too dearely well did love, Herselfe downe soust, she waked out of dread Unto my choise by no meanes would assent, Streight into griefe, that her deare hart nigh swelt, But often did my folly fowle reprove: And eft gan into tender teares to melt.

Yet nothing could my fixed mind remove, Then when she lookt about, and nothing found But, whether will'd or nilled friend or foe, But darknesse and dread horrour where she dwelt, I me resolv'd the utmost end to prove; She almost fell againe into a swound;

And, rather then my love abandon so, Ne wist whether above she were or under ground. Both sire and friends and all for ever to forgo

1

" Thenceforth I sought by secret meanes to worke | It so befell, as oft it fals in chace,
Time to my will, and from his wrathfull sight That each of them from other sundred were ;
To hide th’ intent which in my heart did lurke, And that same gentle squire arriv'd in place
Till I thereto had all things readie dight.

Where this same cursed caytive did appeare
So on a day, unweeting unto wight,

Pursuing that faire lady full of feare: I with that squire agreede away to flit,

And now he her quite overtaken bad; And in a privy place, betwixt us hight,

And now he her away with him did beare Within a grove appointed him to meete;

Under his arme, as seeming wondrous glad, To which I boldly came upon my feeble feete. That by his grenning laughter mote farre off be rad. “ But ah! unhappy houre me thither brought : Which drery sight the gentle squire espying For in that place where I him thought to find,

Doth hast to crosse him by the nearest way, There was I found, contráry to my thought,

Led with that wofull ladies piteous crying, Of this accursed carle of hellish kind,

And him assailes with all the might he may; The shame of men, and plague of womankind; Yet will not he the lovely spoile downe lay, Who trussing me, as eagle doth his pray,

But with his craggy club in his right band Me bether brought with him as swift as wind,

Defends himselfe, and saves his gotten pray: Where yet untouched till this present day,

Yet irad it bene right hard him to withstand, 1 rest his wretched thrall, the sad Æmylia.”

But that he was full light and nimble on the land. " Ah! sad Emylia," then sayd Amoret,

Thereto the villaine used craft in fight : “ Thy ruefull plight I pitty as mine owne !

For, ever when the squire his iavelin shooke, But read to me, by what device or wit

He held the lady forth before him right, Hast thou in all this time from him unknowne

And with her body, as a buckler, broke Thine honour savd, though into thraldome throwne?" The puissance of his intended stroke: “ Torough helpe,” quoth she, “ of this old woman

And if it chaunst, (as needs it must in fight) have so done, as she to me hath showne: (here hilest he on him was greedy to be wroke, For, ever when he burnt in lustfull fire,

That any little blow on her did light,

Then would he laugh aloud, and gather great delight. She in my stead supplide his bestiall desire."

Which subtill sleight did him encumber much, Thus of their evils as they did discourse,

And made him oft, when he would strike, forbeare; And each did other much bewaile and mone :

For hardly could he come the carle to touch, Loe! where the villaine selfe, their sorrowes sourse,

But that he her must hurt, or hazard neare: Came to the cave; and rolling thence the stone,

Yet he his hand so carefully did beare, Which wont to stop the mouth thereof that none

That at the last he did himselfe attaine, Might issue forth, came rudely rushing in,

And therein left the pike-head of his speare: And, spredding over all the flore alone,

A streame of coleblacke bloud thence gusht amaine, Gan dight himselfe unto his wonted sinne;

That all her silken garmentsdid with blould bestaine. Which ended, then his bloudy banket should beginne.

With that he threw her rudely on the flore, Which whenas fearefull Amoret perceived,

And, laying both his hands upon his glave, She staid not th' utmost end thereof to try, With dreadfull strokes let drive at him so sore, But, like a ghastly gelt whose wits are reaved, That forst him fie abacke, himselfe to save: Pan forth in hast with hideous outcry,

Yet he therewith so felly still did rave, For hoffour of his shamefull villany:

That scarse the squire his band could once upreare, But after her full lightly he uprose,

But, for advantage, ground unto him gave, And her pursu'd as fast as she did fie:

Tracing and traversing, now here, now there ; Full fast she flies, and farre afore him goes, (toes. For bootlesse thing it was to think such blowes to Ne feeles the thorns and thickets pricke her tender

beare. Nor hedge, nor ditch, nor will, nor dale she staies, Whilest thus in battell they embusied were, But over-leapes them all, like robucke light, Belphebe, raunging in her forrest wide, And througly the thickest makes her nighest waies; The hideous noise of their huge strokes did heare, And evermore, when with regardfull sight

And drew thereto, making her eare her guide: She looking backe espies that griesly wight

Whom when that tbeefe approching nigh espide Approching nigb, she gins to mend her pace,

With bow in hand and arrowes ready bent, And makes her feare a spur to hast her fight; He by his former combate would not bide, More swift than Myrrh'or Daphne in her race, But fled away with ghastly dreriment, Or any of the Thracian nimplies in salvage chace. Well knowing her to be his deaths sole instrument. Long so she fled, and so he follow'd long;

Whom seeing fie, she speedily poursewell Ne living aide for her on Earth appeares,

With winged feete, as nimble as the winde, But if the Heavens helpe to redresse her wrong, And ever in her bow she ready shewed Moved with pity of her plenteous teares.

The arrow to his deadly marke desynde: It fortuned Belphebe with her peares

As when Latonaes daughter, cruell kynde, The woody nimphs, and with that lovely boy, In vengement of her mothers great disgrace, Was hunting then the libbards and the beares With fell despight her cruell arrowes tynde In these wild woods, as was her wonted ioy, Gainst wofull Niobes unhappy race, To banish sloth that oft doth noble mindes annoy. That all the gods did mone her miserable case

So well she sped her and so far she ventred, At last, when long he follow'd had in vaine,
That, ere unto his hellish den he raught,

Yet found no case of griefe nor hope of grace,
Even as he ready was there to have entred, Unto those woods he turned backe againe,
She sent an arrow forth with mighty draught, Pull of sad anguish and in heavy case:
That in the very dore him overtaught,

And, finding there fit solitary place And, in bis nape arriving, through it thrild

For wofull wight, chose out a gloomy glade, His greedy throte, therewith in two distraught, Where hardly eye mote sce bright Heavens face That all his vitall spirites thereby spild,

For mossy trees, which covered all with shade
And all his hairy brest with gory bloud was fill And sad melancholy; there he his cabin made.
Whom when on ground she groveling saw to rowle, His wonted warlike weapons all he broke
Sbe ran in bast his life to have bereft;

And threw away, with vow to use no inore,
But, ere she could him reach, the sinfull sowle Nethenceforth erer strike in battell stroke,
Having his carrion corse quite sepcelesse left Ne ever word to speake to woman more;
Was fled to Hell, surcharg'd with spoile and theft: But in that wildernesse, of men forlore
Yet over him she there long gazing stood,

And of the wicked world forgotten quight,
And oft admir'd his monstrous shape, and oft His hard mishap in dolor to deplore,
His mighty limbs, whilest all with filthy bloud And wast his wretched daies in wofull plight:
The place there over-flowne seemd like a sodaine So on himselfe to wreake his follies owne despight.
flood.

And eke his garment, to be thereto meet, Thenceforth she past into his dreadfull den, He wilfully did cut and shape anew; Where nought but darkesome drerinesse she found,

And his faire lockes, that wont with ointment sweet Ne creature saw, but hearkned now and then To be embaulm'd, and sweat out dainty dew, Some litle whispering, and soft-grouing sound. He let to grow and griesly to concrew, With that she askt, what ghosts there under ground

Uncomb'd, uncurl'd, and carelesly unshed; Lay hid in horrour of eternall night;

That in short time his face they overgrew, And bad them, if so be they were not bound, And over all his shoulders did dispred, To come and shew themselves before the light, That who he whilome was uneath was to be red. Now freed from feare and danger of that dismall wight.

There he continued in this carefull plight,

Wretchedly wearing out his youthly yeares, Then forth the sad Æmylia issewed,

Through wilfull penury consumed quight, Yet tro ng every ioynt through former feare;

That like a pined ghost he soone appeares: And after her the hag, there with her mewed,

For other food then that wilde forrest beares, A foule and lothsome creature, did appeare;

Ne other drinke there did he ever tast A leman fit for such a lover deare:

Then running water tempred with his teares, That mov'd Belphebe her no lesse to hate,

The more his weakened body so to wast:
Then for to rue the others heavy cheare;
Of whom she gan enquire of her estate;

That out of all mens knowledge he was worne at last. Who all to her at large, as hapned, did relate.

Por on a day, by fortune as it fell, Thence she them brought toward the place where

His own deare lord, prince Arthure, came that way,

Seeking adventures where he mote heare tell; She left the gentle squire with Amoret : [late There she him found by that new lovely mate,

And, as he through the wandring wood did stray,

Having espide his cabin far away, Who lay the whiles in swoune, full sadly set,

He to it crew, to weet who there did wonne; From her faire eyes wiping the deawy wet

Weening therein some holy hermit lay, Which softly stild, and kissing them atweene,

That did resort of sinfull people shonne; And handling soft the hurts which she did get :

Or else some woodman shrowded there from scorchFor of that carle she sorely bruz'd had beene,

ing Sunne. Als of his owne rash hand one wound was to be seene. Which when she saw with sodaine glauncing eye,

Arriving there he found this wretched man Her noble heart, with sight thereof, was fild

Spending his daies iu dolour and despaire, With deepe disdaine and great indignity,

And, through long fasting, woxen pale and wan, That in her wrath she thought them both liave thrild All over-growen with rude and rugged haire; With that selfe arrow which the carle had kild :

That albeit his owne dear squire he were, Yet held her wrathfull hand from vengeance sore :

Yet he bim knew not, ne aviz'd at all; But drawing nigh, ere he her well beheld,

But like strange wight, whom he had seene no where, “ Is this the faith?” she said—and said no more, Saluting him, gan into speach to fall, (thrall. But turnd her face, and fed away for everinore.

And pitty much his pligbt, that liv'd like outcast He, seeing her depart, arose up light,

But to his speach he aunswered no whit, Right sore agrieved at her sharpę reproofe,

But stood still mute, as if he had beene dum, And follow'd fast: but, when he came in sight, Ne signe of sence did shew, ne common wit, He durst not nigh approch, but kept aloofe, As one with griefe and anguishe over-cum; For dread of her displeasure's utmost proofe : And unto every thing did aunswere mim: And evermore, when he did grace entreat,

And ever, when the prince unto him spake, And framed speaches fit for his behoofe,

He louted lowly, as did him becum, Her mortall arrowes she at him did threat,

And humble homage did unto him make; And forst him backe with fowle dishonor to retreat. Midst sorrow shewing ioyous semblance for his sake.

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