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not so,

moans.

And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.- A two-fold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me;
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand; And then, betwixt me and my married wife.-
Thou map' of honour; thou king Richard's tomb, Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn, And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.-
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,
When triumph is become an ale-house guest ? Where shivering cold and sickness pines the elime;
K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp,

She came adorned hither like sweet May,
To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul, Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day.
To think our former state a happy dream;

Queen. And must we be divided ? must we part! From which awak'd, the truth of what we are K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,

heart from heart, To grim necessity; and he and I

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. Will keep a league till death. Hic thee to France, North. That were some love, but little policy. And cloister thee in some religious house:

Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one wo. Which our profane hours here have stricken down, Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and Better far off, than-near, be ne'er the near mind

Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with groans. Transform'd and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke Queen. So longest way shall have the longest Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart? The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,

K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage

being short, To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod; Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, And lawn on rage with base humility,

Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. Which art a lion, and a king of beasts?

One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; is aught but Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. beasts,

[They kiss. I had been still a happy king of men.

Queen. Give me mine own again ; 'twere no good Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for part, France :

To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. Think, I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st,

[Kiss again. As from my death-bed, my last living leave. So, now I have mine own again, begone, In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire That I may strive to kill it with a groan. With good old folks ; and let them tell thee tales K. Rich. We make wo wanton with this fond Of woful ages, long ago betid ::

delay : And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. [Est. Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, And send the hearers weeping to their beds. SCENE II.-The same. A room in the Duke of For why, the senseless brands will sympathize York's palace. Enter York, and his Duchess. The heavy accent of thy moving tongue, And, in compassion, weep the fire out:

Dich. My lord, you told me, you would tell the And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,

rest, For the deposing of a rightful king.

When weeping made you break the story oft, Enter Northumberland, attended.

Or our two cousins coming into London.

York. Where did I leave ? North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is Duch.

Al that sad stop, my lord, chang'd;

Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows'lops, You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. - Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;

York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling. With all swist speed you must away to France.

broke, K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where- Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, withal

Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,– With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, The time shall not be many hours of age While all tongues cried—God save thee, Boling More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head,

broke ! Shall break into corruption : thou shalt think, You would have thought the very windows spake, Though he divide the realm, and give thee hall, So many greedy looks of young and old It is too little, helping him to all;

Through casements darted their desiring eyes And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way Upon his visage ; and that all the walls, To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, With painted imagery, had said at once,Being nc'er so little urg'd, another way

Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke! To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, The love of wicked friends converts to fear; Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both, Bespake them thus, I thank you, countrymen : To worthy danger, and deserved death.

And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. North. My givilt be on my head, and there an end. Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides be the Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. while ? K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd ?-Bad men, ye violate York. As, in a theatre, the eyes of men,

After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, (1) Picture of greatness.

(2) Passed. (3) Be even with them.

(5) Never the nigher. 14) All-ballows, i, e. All-saints, Nov. I. (6) Tapestry hung from the windows

Are idly bent' on him that enters next,

Auin. Good mother, be content; it is no more Thinking his prattle to be tedious :

Than my poor life must answer. Even so, or with much more contempt, men's cyes Duch.

Thy life answer! Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him ; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:

Re-enter servant, with boots. But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;

York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. Which, with such gentle sorrow, he shook off,

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou His face still combating with tears and smiles,

art amaz'd :* The badges of his grief and patience,-

llence, villain; never more come in my sight.That had not God, lor some strong purpose, sice!!!

[To the servumi. The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, York. Give me my boots, I say: And barbarism itself have pitied him.

inich. Why, York, what wilt thou do? But heaven hath a hand in these events;

Wilt thou noi hide the irespass of thine own? To whose high will we bound our calm contents. Have we more sons? or are we like to have ? To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,

Is not my teemings date drunk up with time? Whose state and honour I for ayož allow.

And wili thou pluck my fair son from mine age, Enter Aumerle.

And rob me of a happy mother's name?

Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own? Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.

York. Thou fond mad woman, York.

Aumerle that was; Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? But that is lost, for being Richard's friend, A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:

And interchangeably set down their hands, I am in parliament pledge for his truth,

To kill the king at Oxford. And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

Dich.

He shall be none; Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets We'll keep him here: Then what is that to him? now,

York. Away, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ? Fond woman! 'were he twenty times my son,

Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: I would appeach him.
God knows, I had as lief be none, as one.

Duch.
York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of as I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful.

Hadst thou groand for him, time,

But now I know thy mind ; thou dost suspect, L-st you be cropp'd before you come to prime. What news from Oxford ? 'hold those justs' and And that he is a bastard, not thy son:

That I have been disloyal to thy bed, triumphs ? Himm. For aught I know, my lord, they do.

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:

He is as like thee as a man may be, York. You will be there, I know.

Not like to me, or any of my kin, Aun. If God prevent it not; I purpose so.

And yet I love him. York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy York. Make way, unruly woman. (Exit. bosom?

Duch. After, Aumerie; mount thee upon his Yen, look'st thou pale ? let me see the writing.

horse ; Aun. My lord, 'tis nothing.

Spur, post; and get before him to the king,
York.
No matter then who sees it:

And beg bis pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I will be satisfied, let me see the writing.

l'll not be long behind; though I be old, Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me;

I doubt not but to ride as fast as York : t is a matter of small consequence,

And never will I rise up from the ground,
Shich for some reasons I would not have seen,
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to sce. Begone.

Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee: Away;

[Exeunt. fear, I fear, Duch. What should you fcar?

SCENE III.- TVindsor. A room in the castle. T'is nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into

Enler Boling broke as kins; Percy, and other or gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.

lords. York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond Chat he is bound to? Wifc, thou art a fool. Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrisy son ? Boy, let me see the writing.

'Tis full three months, since I did see him last :Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not If any plague hang over us, 'lis he. show it.

I would to God, my lords, he might be found : York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say. Inquirc at London, 'monyst the taverns there,

Snalches it, and reads. For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, Treason! foul treason !-villain! traitor! slave! With unrestrained loose companions ; Dich. What is the matter, my lord ?

Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, York. Ho! who is within there? (Enter a ser- And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ; vant.) Saddle my horse.

While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy, ind for his mercy! what treachery is here ! Takes on the point of honour, to support Dich, Why, what is it, my lord?

So dissolute a crew. York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the horse :

prince; Jow by mine honour, by my life, my troth, And told him of thesc triumphs held at Oxford. will appeach the villain.

[Exit servant. Boling. And what said the gallant? Duch.

What's the matter? Percy. His answer was, he would unto the York. Peace, foolish woman.

stews; Duch. I will not peace :-What is the matter, son? And from the common'st creature pluck a glove,

And wear it as a favour; and with that
(1) Carelessly turned. (2) Ever.
(3) Tilts and tournaments.

(4) Perplexed, confounded. (5) Breeding,

He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

Duch. (Wilhin.) What ho, my liege! for God's Boling. As dissolute, as desperate: yet, through sake let me in. both

Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this I see some sparkles of a better hope,

eager cry? Which elder' days may happily bring forth. Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; But who comes here?

'tis I. Enler Aumerle, hastily.

Speak with me, pity me, open the door;

A beggar begs, that never begg'd before.
Aum.
Where is the king ?

Boling. Our scene is alter'd,- from a serious Boling.

What means thing, Oar cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly?

And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King.' Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ; majesty,

I know, she's come to pray for your soul sin. To have some conference with your grace alone. York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper mav. alone.

(Exeunt Percy and lords. This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound; What is the matter with our cousin now?

This, let alone, will all the rest confound. Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,

(Kneels.

Enter Duchess.
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak.

Duch. O, king, believe not this hard-hearted Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault?

man; If but the first, how heinous e'er it be,

Love, loving not itsell, none other can. To win thy aser-love, I pardon thec.

York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key,

make* here? That no man enter till my tale be done.

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear ? Boling. Have thy desire. (Aum. locks the door.

Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gen. York. [Within.) My liege, beware; look to

tle liege.

(K'ntels. thysell;

Boling. Rise up, good aunt. Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

Duch.

Not yet, I thee beseech : Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. (Drawing. For ever will I kneel upon my knees, Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;

And never see day that the happy sees, Thou hast no cause to fear.

Till thou give joy ; until thou bid me joy, York. (Wilhin.) Open the door, secure, fool-By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing bos, hardy king :

Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?

knee.

[K'neels. Open the door, or 'I will break it open.

York. Against them both, my true joints bended

be. (Bolingbroke opens the door.

(Kneels Dl may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! Enter York.

Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face; Boling: What is the matter, uncle ? speak; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, His words come froin his mouth, ours from our That we may arm us to encounter it.

breast : York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt He prays but saintly, and would be denied; know

We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside: The treason that my haste forbids me show. His weary joints would gladly rise, I know ; Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grom. past :

His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; I do repent me ; read not my name there, Ours, or true zeal and deep integrity: My heart is not confederate with my hand. Our prayers do out-pray his ; then let them have York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. down.

Boling. Good aunt, stand up. I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king:

Duch.

Nay, do not say—stand up; Fear, and not love, begets his penitencc:

But, pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up. Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove

An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, A serpent that will sting thee to ihe heart. Pardon-should be the first word of thy speech. Boling. O heinous, 'strong, and bold conspi- I never long'd to hear a word till now; racy!

Say--pardon, king; let pity teach thee how: O loyal father of a treacherous son!

The word is short, but not so short as sweet ; Thou sheer,' immaculate, and silver fountain, No word like pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. From whence this stream through muddy passages, York. Speak it in French, king; say, pardonne: Hath held his current, and defi'd himself!

moy." Thy overflow of good converts to bad;

Dich. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to de And thy abundant goodness shall excuse

stroy ? This deadly blot in thy digressing? son.

Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; That set'st the word itself against the word !And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our land; As thrifless sons their scraping fathers' gold. The chopping French we do not understand. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there : Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies : Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath, That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse.

Boling. Good aunt, stand up. (1) Transparent. (2) Transgressing, (3) An old ballad,

(5) Excuse me,

(4) Do,

Duch.

I do not sue to stand, That many have, and others must sit there : Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. Bearing their own misfortune on the back

Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee ! of such as have before endur'd the like. Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again;

Thus play 1, in one person, many people, Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain, And none contented: Sometimes am I king ; But makes one pardon strong.

Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar, Boling.

With all my heart And so I am: Then crushing penury I pardon him.

Persuades me I was better when a king; Duch. A god on earth thou art. Then am I king'd again : and, by-and-by, Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law,—and think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, the abbot,

And straight am nothing :-But, whate'er' I am, With all the rest of that consorted crew,

Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd, Good uncle, help to order several powers? With being nothing.–Music do I hear? (Music, To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: Ha, ha! keep time:-How sour sweet music is, They shall not live within this world, I swear,

When time is broke, and no proportion kept !
But I will have them, if I once know where. So is it in the music of men's lives.
Uncle, farewell,-and cousin too, adieu :

And here have I the daintiness of ear,
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. To check time broke in a disorder'd string ;
Duch. Come, my old son;-) pray God make But, for the concord of my state and time,
thee new.

(Ereunt. Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. SCENE IV.-Enter Exton, and a Servant. For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock: Erton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jars he spake?

Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch, Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear ? Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Was it not so ?

Is pointing still, in cleansing thein from tears. Serv.

Those were his very words. Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is, Exton. Have I no friend ? quoth he: he spake Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart, it twice,

Which is the bell; Soʻsighs, and tears, and groans, And urg'd it twice together; did he not ? Show minutes, times, and hours:--but my time Serv. He did.

Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, Exlon. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on While I stand fooling here, his Jack o'the clock. me;

This music mads me, let it sound no more; As who should say, I would, thou wert the man For, though it have holp madmen to their wits, That would divorce this terror from my heart; In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go ; Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me! I am the king's friend, and will rid his foc. (Exe. For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richerd

Is a strange brooch' in this all-hating world. SCENE V.-Pomsret. The dungeon of the castle. Enter King Richard.

Enter Groom. K. Rich. I have been studying how I may com Groom. Hail, royal prince! pare

K. Rich.

Thanks, noble peer; This prison, where I live, unto the world : The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. And, for because the world is populous,

What art thou ? and how comest thou hither, And here is not a creature but myself,

Where no man never comes, but that sad dog I cannot do it ;-Yet I'll hammer it out.

That brings me food, to make misfortune live?
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul; Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
My soul, the father : and these two beget When thou wert king; who, travelling towards
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,

York,
And these same thoughts people this little world ;- With much ado, at length have gotten leave
In humours, like the people of this world, To look upon my sometimes master's face.
For no thought is contented. The better sort,- !, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld,
As thoughts of things divine,-are intermix’d In London streets, that coronation day,
With scruples, and do set the word itself When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary!
Against the word ::

That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid;
As thus,- Come, little ones ; and then again, That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd!
It is as hard to come, as for a camel

K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle To thread the posterna of a needle's eye.

friend, Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot How went he under him? Unlikely wonders : how these vain weak nails Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. May tear a passage through the flinty ribs K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;

back! And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves - This hand hath made him proud with clapping That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,

him. Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars,

Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, (Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck

Or that proud man that did usurp his back ? (1) Forces,

(2) His own body. (3) Holy scripture. (4) Little gate. (5) Tick. (7) An ornamented buckle, and also a jewel in (6) Strike for him, like the figure of a man on general.

(8) Former,

bel,

Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee, Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,

pains;
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spur-gall’d, and lir'd, by jauncing' Bolingbroke.

Enter Fitzwater.
Enter Keeper, wilh a dish.

Filz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to Lon

don Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely;

(To the Grouin. K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

Two of the dangerous and consorted truitors, away. Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my Righit puble is thy merit, well I'wot.

Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot, heart shall say.

(Exil. Keep. My lord, willit please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as ihou art wont to do.

Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Keep. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton, Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westwho

minster, Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, K. Rich. The devil také flenry of Lancaster and Hath yielded up his body to the grave; thce !

But here is Carlisle, living, to abide Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.

[Beats the Keeper. Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom :Keep. Help, help, help!

Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, Enter Exton, and servants, armed,

More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;

So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife: K. Rich. How now? what means death in this for though mine enemy thou hast ever been, rude assault ?

High sparks of honour in thce have I seei. Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.

[ Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Enter Exton, with attendants bearing a coffin. Go thon, and fill another room in hell. (fle kills another, then Exton strikes him down.

Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,

Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies That stajyers thus my person.--Exton, thy fierce The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, hand

Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. Hath with the king's blood staind the king's own Buling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast land.

wrought Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. Upon my head, and all this famous land.

[Dies. Exlon. From your own mouth, my lord, did I Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood :

this deed. Both have I spilt; 0, would the dead were good! Nor do i thee; though I did wish himn dead,

Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell.

I hate the murderer, love him murdered. This dead king to the living king I'll bear;

The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.

But neither my good word, nor princely favour : (Exeunt. With Cain yo wander through the shade of night,

And never show thy head by day nor night.SCENE VI.-Windsor. A room in the castle. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of wo,

Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, and York, with That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow: lords and allendanis.

Come, mourn with me for what I do lainent, Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear And put on sullen black incontinent;a Is--that the rebels have consum'd with fire

I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, Our town of Cicester in Glostershire;

To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:But whether they be ta’en, or slain, wc hear not. March sadly afer; grace my mournings here,

In weeping alter this untimely bier. [E.ceunt. Enter Northumberland. Welcome, my lord: What is the news ? North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all hap

piness. The next news is, I have to London sent

This play is one of those which Shakspeare has The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: apparently revised; but as success in works of inThe manner of their taking may appear

vention is not always proportionate to labour, it is At large discoursed in this paper here.

not finished at last with the happy force of some [Presenting a paper. other of his tragedics, nor can be said much to af

fect the passions, or enlarge the understanding. (1) Jaunting (2) Immediately.

JOHNSON.

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