Shakespeare in the Digital Age

Act V

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Iago, and Rodorigo.

Iago. Heere, stand behinde this Barke,
Straight will he come:
Weare thy good Rapier bare, and put it home:
Quicke, quicke, feare nothing; Ile be at thy Elbow,
It makes vs, or it marres vs, thinke on that,
And fixe most firme thy Resolution

Rod. Be neere at hand, I may miscarry in't

Iago. Heere, at thy hand: Be bold, & take thy stand

Rod. I haue no great deuotion to the deed,
And yet he hath giuen me satisfying Reasons:
'Tis but a man gone. Forth my Sword: he dies

Iago. I haue rub'd this yong Quat almost to the sense,
And he growes angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio,
Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other,
Euery way makes my gaine. Liue Rodorigo,
He calles me to a restitution large
Of Gold, and Iewels, that I bob'd from him,
As Guifts to Desdemona.
It must not be: If Cassio do remaine,
He hath a dayly beauty in his life,
That makes me vgly: and besides, the Moore
May vnfold me to him: there stand I in much perill:
No, he must dye. But so, I heard him comming.
Enter Cassio.

Rod. I know his gate, 'tis he: Villaine thou dyest

Cas. That thrust had beene mine enemy indeed,
But that my Coate is better then thou know'st:
I will make proofe of thine

Rod. Oh, I am slaine

Cassio. I am maym'd for euer:
Helpe hoa: Murther, murther.
Enter Othello.

Oth. The voyce of Cassio. Iago keepes his word

Rod. O Villaine that I am

Oth. It is euen so

Cas. Oh helpe hoa: Light, a Surgeon

Oth. 'Tis he: O braue Iago, honest, and iust,
That hast such Noble sense of thy Friends wrong,
Thou teachest me. Minion, your deere lyes dead,
And your vnblest Fate highes: Strumpet I come:
For of my heart, those Charmes thine Eyes, are blotted.
Thy Bed lust-stain'd, shall with Lusts blood bee spotted.

Exit Othello.

Enter Lodouico and Gratiano.

Cas. What hoa? no Watch? No passage?
Murther, Murther

Gra. 'Tis some mischance, the voyce is very direfull

Cas. Oh helpe

Lodo. Hearke

Rod. Oh wretched Villaine

Lod. Two or three groane. 'Tis heauy night;
These may be counterfeits: Let's think't vnsafe
To come into the cry, without more helpe

Rod. Nobody come: then shall I bleed to death.
Enter Iago.

Lod. Hearke

Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with Light, and

Iago. Who's there?
Who's noyse is this that cries on murther?
Lodo. We do not know

Iago. Do not you heare a cry?
Cas. Heere, heere: for heauen sake helpe me

Iago. What's the matter?
Gra. This is Othello's Ancient, as I take it

Lodo. The same indeede, a very valiant Fellow

Iago. What are you heere, that cry so greeuously?
Cas. Iago? Oh I am spoyl'd, vndone by Villaines:
Giue me some helpe

Iago. O mee, Lieutenant!
What Villaines haue done this?
Cas. I thinke that one of them is heereabout.
And cannot make away

Iago. Oh treacherous Villaines:
What are you there? Come in, and giue some helpe

Rod. O helpe me there

Cassio. That's one of them

Iago. Oh murd'rous Slaue! O Villaine!
Rod. O damn'd Iago! O inhumane Dogge!
Iago. Kill men i'th' darke?
Where be these bloody Theeues?
How silent is this Towne? Hoa, murther, murther.
What may you be? Are you of good, or euill?
Lod. As you shall proue vs, praise vs

Iago. Signior Lodouico?
Lod. He Sir

Iago. I cry you mercy: here's Cassio hurt by Villaines

Gra. Cassio?
Iago. How is't Brother?
Cas. My Legge is cut in two

Iago. Marry heauen forbid:
Light Gentlemen, Ile binde it with my shirt.
Enter Bianca.

Bian. What is the matter hoa? Who is't that cry'd?
Iago. Who is't that cry'd?
Bian. Oh my deere Cassio,
My sweet Cassio: Oh Cassio, Cassio, Cassio

Iago. O notable Strumpet. Cassio, may you suspect
Who they should be, that haue thus mangled you?
Cas. No

Gra. I am sorry to finde you thus;
I haue beene to seeke you

Iago. Lend me a Garter. So: - Oh for a Chaire
To beare him easily hence

Bian. Alas he faints. Oh Cassio, Cassio, Cassio

Iago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this Trash
To be a party in this Iniurie.
Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come;
Lend me a Light: know we this face, or no?
Alas my Friend, and my deere Countryman
Rodorigo? No: Yes sure: Yes, 'tis Rodorigo

Gra. What, of Venice?
Iago. Euen he Sir: Did you know him?
Gra. Know him? I

Iago. Signior Gratiano? I cry your gentle pardon:
These bloody accidents must excuse my Manners,
That so neglected you

Gra. I am glad to see you

Iago. How do you Cassio? Oh, a Chaire, a Chaire

Gra. Rodorigo?
Iago. He, he, 'tis he:
Oh that's well said, the Chaire.
Some good man beare him carefully from hence,
Ile fetch the Generall's Surgeon. For you Mistris,
Saue you your labour. He that lies slaine heere (Cassio)
Was my deere friend. What malice was between you

Cas. None in the world: nor do I know the man?
Iago. What? looke you pale? Oh beare him o'th' Ayre.
Stay you good Gentlemen. Looke you pale, Mistris?
Do you perceiue the gastnesse of her eye?
Nay, if you stare, we shall heare more anon.
Behold her well: I pray you looke vpon her:
Do you see Gentlemen? Nay, guiltinesse will speake
Though tongues were out of vse.
Aemil. Alas, what is the matter?
What is the matter, Husband?
Iago. Cassio hath heere bin set on in the darke
By Rodorigo, and Fellowes that are scap'd:
He's almost slaine, and Rodorigo quite dead.
Aemil. Alas good Gentleman: alas good Cassio

Iago. This is the fruits of whoring. Prythe aemilia,
Go know of Cassio where he supt to night.
What, do you shake at that?
Bian. He supt at my house, but I therefore shake not

Iago. O did he so? I charge you go with me.
Aemil. Oh fie vpon thee Strumpet

Bian. I am no Strumpet, but of life as honest,
As you that thus abuse me.
Aemil. As I? Fie vpon thee

Iago. Kinde Gentlemen:
Let's go see poore Cassio drest.
Come Mistris, you must tel's another Tale.
aemilia, run you to the Cittadell,
And tell my Lord and Lady, what hath happ'd:
Will you go on afore? This is the night
That either makes me, or foredoes me quight.


Scoena Secunda.

Enter Othello, and Desdemona in her bed.

Oth. It is the Cause, it is the Cause (my Soule)
Let me not name it to you, you chaste Starres,
It is the Cause. Yet Ile not shed her blood,
Nor scarre that whiter skin of hers, then Snow,
And smooth as Monumentall Alablaster:
Yet she must dye, else shee'l betray more men:
Put out the Light, and then put out the Light:
If I quench thee, thou flaming Minister,
I can againe thy former light restore,
Should I repent me. But once put out thy Light,
Thou cunning'st Patterne of excelling Nature,
I know not where is that Promethaean heate
That can thy Light re-Lume.
When I haue pluck'd thy Rose,
I cannot giue it vitall growth againe,
It needs must wither. Ile smell thee on the Tree.
Oh Balmy breath, that dost almost perswade
Iustice to breake her Sword. One more, one more:
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And loue thee after. One more, and that's the last.
So sweet, was ne're so fatall. I must weepe,
But they are cruell Teares: This sorrow's heauenly,
It strikes, where it doth loue. She wakes

Des. Who's there? Othello?
Othel. I Desdemona

Des. Will you come to bed, my Lord?
Oth. Haue you pray'd to night, Desdemon?
Des. I my Lord

Oth. If you bethinke your selfe of any Crime
Vnreconcil'd as yet to Heauen, and Grace,
Solicite for it straight

Des. Alacke, my Lord,
What may you meane by that?
Oth. Well, do it, and be breefe, I will walke by:
I would not kill thy vnprepared Spirit,
No, Heauens fore-fend) I would not kill thy Soule

Des. Talke you of killing?
Oth. I, I do

Des. Then Heauen haue mercy on mee

Oth. Amen, with all my heart

Des. If you say, I hope you will not kill me

Oth. Humh

Des. And yet I feare you: for you're fatall then
When your eyes rowle so.
Why I should feare, I know not,
Since guiltinesse I know not: But yet I feele I feare

Oth. Thinke on thy sinnes

Des. They are Loues I beare to you

Oth. I, and for that thou dy'st

Des. That death's vnnaturall, that kils for louing.
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether-lip?
Some bloody passion shakes your very Frame:
These are portents: but yet I hope, I hope,
They do not point on me

Oth. Peace, and be still

Des. I will so: What's the matter?
Oth. That Handkerchiefe
Which I so lou'd, and gaue thee, thou gau'st to Cassio

Des. No by my Life, and Soule: send for the man,
And aske him

Oth. Sweet Soule, take heed, take heed of Periury,
Thou art on thy death-bed

Des. I, but not yet to dye

Oth. Presently.
Therefore confesse thee freely of thy sinne:
For to deny each Article with Oath,
Cannot remoue, nor choake the strong Conception
That I do grone withall. Thou art to dye

Des. O Heauen haue mercy on me

Oth. I say, Amen

Des. And haue you mercy too. I neuer did
Offend you in my life: neuer lou'd Cassio,
But with such generall warrantie of Heauen,
As I might loue. I neuer gaue him Token

Oth. By Heauen I saw my Handkerchiefe in's hand.
O periur'd woman, thou do'st stone my heart,
And makes me call, what I intend to do,
A Murther, which I thought a Sacrifice.
I saw the Handkerchiefe

Des. He found it then:
I neuer gaue it him: Send, for him hither:
Let him confesse a truth

Oth. He hath confest

Des. What, my Lord?
Oth. That he hath vs'd thee

Des. How? vnlawfully?
Oth. I

Des. He will not say so

Oth. No: his mouth is stopp'd:
Honest Iago hath 'tane order for't

Des. Oh, my feare interprets. What is he dead?
Oth. Had all his haires bin liues, my great Reuenge
Had stomacke for them all

Des. Alas, he is betray'd, and I vndone

Oth. Out Strumpet: weep'st thou for him to my face?
Des. O banish me, my Lord, but kill me not

Oth. Downe Strumpet

Des. Kill me to morrow, let me liue to night

Oth. Nay, if you striue

Des. But halfe an houre

Oth. Being done, there is no pawse

Des. But while I say one prayer

Oth. It is too late.

Smothers her.

aemilia at the doore.

Aemil. My Lord, my Lord? What hoa?
My Lord, my Lord

Oth. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead?
I that am cruell, am yet mercifull,
I would not haue thee linger in thy paine?
So, so.
Aemil. within. What hoa? my Lord, my Lord?
Oth. Who's there?
Aemil. Oh good my Lord, I would speake a word
with you

Oth. Yes: 'Tis aemilia: by and by. Shee's dead.
'Tis like she comes to speake of Cassio's death:
The noise was high. Hah, no more moouing?
Still as the Graue. Shall she come in? Wer't good?
I thinke she stirres againe. No, what's best to do?
If she come in, shee'l sure speake to my wife:
My wife, my wife: what wife? I haue no wife.
Oh insupportable! Oh heauy houre!
Me thinkes, it should be now a huge Eclipse
Of Sunne, and Moone; and that th' affrighted Globe
Did yawne at Alteration.
Aemil. I do beseech you
That I may speake with you. Oh good my Lord

Oth. I had forgot thee: oh come in aemilia.
Soft, by and by, let me the Curtaines draw.
Where art thou? What's the matter with thee now?
Enter aemilia.

Aemil. Oh my good Lord, yonders foule Murthers

Oth. What? now?
Aemil. But now, my Lord

Oth. It is the very error of the Moone,
She comes more neerer Earth then she was wont,
And makes men mad.
Aemil. Cassio, my Lord, hath kill'd
A young Venetian, call'd Rodorigo

Oth. Rodorigo kill'd? and Cassio kill'd?
Aemil. No, Cassio is not kill'd

Oth. Not Cassio kill'd? Then Murther's out of tune,
And sweet Reuenge growes harsh

Des. O falsely, falsely murder'd.
Aemil. Alas! what cry is that?
Oth. That? What?
Aemil. Out, and alas, that was my Ladies voice.
Helpe, helpe hoa, helpe. Oh Ladie speake againe,
Sweet Desdemona, oh sweet Mistris, speake

Des. A guiltlesse death, I dye.
Aemil. Oh who hath done this deed?
Des. No body: I my selfe, farewell:
Commend me to my kinde Lord: oh farewell

Oth. Why, how should she be murdred?
Aemil. Alas: who knowes?
Oth. You heare her say her selfe, it was not I.
Aemil. She said so: I must needs report the truth

Oth. She's like a Liar gone to burning hell,
'Twas I that kill'd her.
Aemil. Oh the more Angell she, and you the blacker

Oth. She turn'd to folly: and she was a whore.
Aemil. Thou do'st bely her, and thou art a diuell

Oth. She was false as water.
Aemil. Thou art rash as fire, to say
That she was false. Oh she was heauenly true

Oth. Cassio did top her: Ask thy husband else.
O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell:
But that I did proceed vpon iust grounds
To this extremity. Thy Husband knew it all.
Aemil. My Husband?
Oth. Thy Husband.
Aemil. That she was false to Wedlocke?
Oth. I, with Cassio: had she bin true,
If Heauen would make me such another world,
Of one entyre and perfect Chrysolite,
I'ld not haue sold her for it.
Aemil. My Husband?
Oth. I, 'twas he that told me on her first,
An honest man he is, and hates the slime
That stickes on filthy deeds.
Aemil. My Husband?
Oth. What needs this itterance, Woman?
I say, thy Husband.
Aemil. Oh Mistris,
Villany hath made mockes with loue:
My Husband say she was false?
Oth. He, Woman;
I say thy Husband: Do'st vnderstand the word?
My Friend, thy Husband; honest, honest Iago.
Aemil. If he say so, may his pernicious Soule
Rot halfe a graine a day: he lyes to'th' heart,
She was too fond of her most filthy Bargaine

Oth. Hah?
Aemil. Do thy worst:
This deede of thine is no more worthy Heauen,
Then thou was't worthy her

Oth. Peace, you were best.
Aemil. Thou hast not halfe that powre to do me harm,
As I haue to be hurt. Oh Gull, oh dolt,
As ignorant as durt: thou hast done a deed
(I care not for thy Sword) Ile make thee known,
Though I lost twenty liues. Helpe, helpe, hoa, helpe:
The Moore hath kill'd my Mistris. Murther, murther.
Enter Montano, Gratiano, and Iago.

Mon. What is the matter? How now Generall?
Aemil. Oh, are you come, Iago: you haue done well,
That men must lay their Murthers on your necke

Gra. What is the matter?
Aemil. Disproue this Villaine, if thou bee'st a man:
He sayes, thou told'st him that his wife was false:
I know thou did'st not: thou'rt not such a Villain.
Speake, for my heart is full

Iago. I told him what I thought,
And told no more
Then what he found himselfe was apt, and true.
Aemil. But did you euer tell him,
She was false?
Iago. I did.
Aemil. You told a Lye an odious damned Lye:
Vpon my Soule, a Lye; a wicked Lye.
Shee false with Cassio?
Did you say with Cassio?
Iago. With Cassio, Mistris?
Go too, charme your tongue

Emil. I will not charme my Tongue;
I am bound to speake,
My Mistris heere lyes murthered in her bed

All. Oh Heauens, forefend

Emil. And your reports haue set the Murder on

Othello. Nay stare not Masters,
It is true indeede

Gra. 'Tis a strange Truth

Mont. O monstrous Acte

Emil. Villany, villany, villany:
I thinke vpon't, I thinke: I smel't: O Villany:
I thought so then: Ile kill my selfe for greefe.
O villany! villany!
Iago. What, are you mad?
I charge you get you home

Emil. Good Gentlemen, let me haue leaue to speake:
'Tis proper I obey him; but not now:
Perchance Iago, I will ne're go home

Oth. Oh, oh, oh

Emil. Nay, lay thee downe, and roare:
For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent,
That ere did lift vp eye

Oth. Oh she was fowle!
I scarse did know you Vnkle, there lies your Neece,
Whose breath (indeed) these hands haue newly stopp'd:
I know this acte shewes horrible and grim

Gra. Poore Desdemon:
I am glad thy Father's dead,
Thy Match was mortall to him: and pure greefe
Shore his old thred in twaine. Did he liue now,
This sight would make him do a desperate turne:
Yea, curse his better Angell from his side,
And fall to Reprobance

Oth. 'Tis pittifull: but yet Iago knowes
That she with Cassio, hath the Act of shame
A thousand times committed. Cassio confest it,
And she did gratifie his amorous workes
With that Recognizance and pledge of Loue
Which I first gaue her: I saw it in his hand:
It was a Handkerchiefe, an Antique Token
My Father gaue my Mother

Emil. Oh Heauen! oh heauenly Powres!
Iago. Come, hold your peace

Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out. I peace?
No, I will speake as liberall as the North;
Let Heauen, and Men, and Diuels, let them all,
All, all, crie shame against me, yet Ile speake

Iago. Be wise, and get you home

Emil. I will not

Gra. Fye, your Sword vpon a Woman

Emil. Oh thou dull Moore,
That Handkerchiefe thou speak'st of
I found by Fortune, and did giue my Husband:
For often, with a solemne earnestnesse,
(More then indeed belong'd to such a Trifle)
He begg'd of me, to steale't

Iago. Villanous Whore

Emil. She giue it Cassio? No, alas I found it,
And I did giu't my Husband

Iago. Filth, thou lyest

Emil. By Heauen I do not, I do not Gentlemen:
Oh murd'rous Coxcombe, what should such a Foole
Do with so good a wife?
Oth. Are there no stones in Heauen,
But what serues for the Thunder?
Precious Villaine

Gra. The woman falles:
Sure he hath kill'd his Wife

Emil. I, I: oh lay me by my Mistris side

Gra. Hee's gone, but his wife's kill'd

Mon. 'Tis a notorious Villain: take you this weapon
Which I haue recouer'd from the Moore:
Come guard the doore without, let him not passe,
But kill him rather. Ile after that same villaine,
For 'tis a damned Slaue.

Oth. I am not valiant neither:
But euery Punie whipster gets my Sword.
But why should Honor out-liue Honesty?
Let it go all.
Aemil. What did thy Song boad Lady?
Hearke, canst thou heare me? I will play the Swan,
And dye in Musicke: Willough, Willough, Willough.
Moore, she was chaste: She lou'd thee, cruell Moore,
So come my Soule to blisse, as I speake true:
So speaking as I thinke, alas, I dye

Oth. I haue another weapon in this Chamber,
It was a Sword of Spaine, the Ice brookes temper:
Oh heere it is: Vnkle I must come forth

Gra. If thou attempt it, it will cost thee deere;
Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer

Oth. Looke in vpon me then, and speake with me,
Or naked as I am I will assault thee

Gra. What is the matter?
Othel. Behold, I haue a weapon:
A better neuer did it selfe sustaine
Vpon a Soldiers Thigh. I haue seene the day,
That with this little Arme, and this good Sword,
I haue made my way through more impediments
Then twenty times your stop. But (oh vaine boast)
Who can controll his Fate? 'Tis not so now.
Be not affraid, though you do see me weapon'd:
Heere is my iournies end, heere is my butt
And verie Sea-marke of my vtmost Saile.
Do you go backe dismaid? 'Tis a lost feare:
Man but a Rush against Othello's brest,
And he retires. Where should Othello go?
Now: how dost thou looke now? Oh ill-Starr'd wench,
Pale as thy Smocke: when we shall meete at compt,
This looke of thine will hurle my Soule from Heauen,
And Fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my Girle?
Euen like thy Chastity. O cursed, cursed Slaue!
Whip me ye Diuels,
From the possession of this Heauenly sight:
Blow me about in windes, roast me in Sulphure,
Wash me in steepe-downe gulfes of Liquid fire.
Oh Desdemon! dead Desdemon: dead. Oh, oh!
Enter Lodouico, Cassio, Montano, and Iago, with Officers.

Lod. Where is this rash, and most vnfortunate man?
Oth. That's he that was Othello: heere I am

Lod. Where is that Viper?
Bring the Villaine forth

Oth. I look down towards his feet; but that's a Fable,
If that thou bee'st a Diuell, I cannot kill thee

Lod. Wrench his Sword from him

Iago. I bleed Sir, but not kill'd

Othel. I am not sorry neither, Il'd haue thee liue:
For in my sense, 'tis happinesse to die

Lod. Oh thou Othello, that was once so good,
Falne in the practise of a cursed Slaue,
What shall be saide to thee

Oth. Why any thing:
An honourable Murderer, if you will:
For nought I did in hate, but all in Honour

Lod. This wretch hath part confest his Villany:
Did you and he consent in Cassio's death

Oth. I

Cas. Deere Generall, I neuer gaue you cause

Oth. I do beleeue it, and I aske your pardon:
Will you, I pray, demand that demy-Diuell,
Why he hath thus ensnar'd my Soule and Body

Iag. Demand me nothing: what you know, you know:
From this time forth, I neuer will speake word

Lod. What? not to pray?
Gra. Torments will ope your lips

Oth. Well, thou dost best

Lod. Sir,
You shall vnderstand what hath befalne,
(Which, as I thinke, you know not) heere is a Letter
Found in the pocket of the slaine Rodorigo,
And heere another, the one of them imports
The death of Cassio, to be vndertooke
By Rodorigo

Oth. O Villaine!
Cassio. Most Heathenish, and most grosse

Lod. Now, heere's another discontented paper
Found in his pocket too: and this it seemes
Rodorigo meant t'haue sent this damned villaine:
But that (belike) Iago in the interim
Came in, and satisfi'd him

Oth. Oh thou pernitious Caitiffe;
How came you (Cassio) by that Handkerchiefe
That was my wiues?
Cassio. I found it in my Chamber:
And he himselfe confest it but euen now,
That there he dropt it for a speciall purpose,
Which wrought to his desire

Othel. O Foole, foole, foole!
Cassio. There is besides, in Rodorigo's Letter,
How he vpbraides Iago, that he made him
Braue me vpon the Watch: whereon it came
That I was cast: and euen but now he spake
(After long seeming dead) Iago hurt him,
Iago set him on

Lod. You must forsake this roome, and go with vs:
Your Power, and your Command is taken off,
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this Slaue,
If there be any cunning Crueltie,
That can torment him much, and hold him long,
It shall be his. You shall close Prisoner rest,
Till that the Nature of your fault be knowne
To the Venetian State. Come, bring away

Oth. Soft you; a word or two before you goe:
I haue done the State some seruice, and they know't:
No more of that. I pray you in your Letters,
When you shall these vnluckie deeds relate,
Speake of me, as I am. Nothing extenuate,
Nor set downe ought in malice.
Then must you speake,
Of one that lou'd not wisely, but too well:
Of one, not easily Iealious, but being wrought,
Perplexed in the extreame: Of one, whose hand
(Like the base Iudean) threw a Pearle away
Richer then all his Tribe: Of one, whose subdu'd Eyes,
Albeit vn-vsed to the melting moode,
Drops teares as fast as the Arabian Trees
Their Medicinable gumme. Set you downe this:
And say besides, that in Aleppo once,
Where a malignant, and a Turbond-Turke
Beate a Venetian, and traduc'd the State,
I tooke by th' throat the circumcised Dogge,
And smoate him, thus

Lod. Oh bloody period

Gra. All that is spoke, is marr'd

Oth. I kist thee, ere I kill'd thee: No way but this,
Killing my selfe, to dye vpon a kisse.

Cas. This did I feare, but thought he had no weapon:
For he was great of heart

Lod. Oh Sparton Dogge:
More fell then Anguish, Hunger, or the Sea:
Looke on the Tragicke Loading of this bed:
This is thy worke:
The Obiect poysons Sight,
Let it be hid. Gratiano, keepe the house,
And seize vpon the Fortunes of the Moore,
For they succeede on you. To you, Lord Gouernor,
Remaines the Censure of this hellish villaine:
The Time, the Place, the Torture, oh inforce it:
My selfe will straight aboord, and to the State,
This heauie Act, with heauie heart relate.



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