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Damætas shall with Lictian Ægon join,
To celebrate with songs the rites divine.
Alphisibæus with a reeling gait

Shall the wild Satyrs' dancing imitate.
When to the nymphs we vows and offerings pay,
When we with solemn rites our fields survey,
These honours ever shall be thine: the boar
Shall in the fields and hills delight no more;
No more in streams the fish, in flowers the bee,
Ere, Daphnis, we forget our songs to thee:
Offerings to thee the shepherds every year
Shall, as to Bacchus and to Ceres, bear:
To thee, as to those gods, shall vows be made,
And vengeance wait on those by whom they are
not paid.

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UPON THE COPY OF VERSES MADE BY HIMSELF
ON THE LAST COPY IN HIS BOOK 3.

WHEN Shame, for all my foolish youth had writ,
Advis'd 'twas time the rhyming trade to quit,
Time to grow wise, and be no more a wit-
The noble fire, that animates thy age,
Once more inflam'd me with poetic rage. [young,
Kings, heroes, nymphs, the brave, the fair, the
Have been the theme of thy immortal song:
A nobler argument at last thy Muse,
Two things divine, thee and herself, does choose.
Age, whose dull weight makes vulgar spirits bend,
Gives wings to thine, and bids it upward tend:
No more confin'd, above the starry skies,
Out from the body's broken cage it flies.
But oh! vouchsafe, not wholly to retire,
To join with and complete th' etherial choir!
Still here remain; still on the threshold stand;
Still at this distance view the promis'd land;
Though thou may'st seem, so heavenly is thy sense,
Not going thither, but new come from thence.

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Close hugs the charmer, and ásham'd to yield, Though he has lost the day, yet keeps the field.

When, with a sigh, the fair Panthea said,

"What pity 'tis, ye gods, that all
The noblest warriors soonest fall!"
Then with a kiss she gently rear'd his head;
Arm'd him again to fight, for nobly she
More lov'd the combat than the victory.

But, more enrag'd for being beat before,
With all his strength he does prepare
More fiercely to renew the war;
Nor ceas'd he till the noble prize he bore:
Ev'n her such wondrous courage did surprise;
She hugs the dart that wounded her, and dies.

A SONG. THROUGH mournful shades, and solitary groves, Fann'd with the sighs of unsuccessful loves,

Wild with despair, young Thyrsis strays, Thinks over all Amyra's heavenly charms, Thinks he now sees her in another's arms;

Then at some willow's root himself he lays, The loveliest, most unhappy swain; And thus to the wild woods he does complain:

"How art thou chang'd, O Thyrsis, since the time When thou could'st love and hope without a crime; When Nature's pride and Earth's delight,

As through her shady evening grove she past,
And a new day did all around her cast,

Could see, nor be offended at the sight,
The melting, sighing, wishing swain,
That now must never hope to wish again!

"Riches and titles! why should they prevail, Where duty, love, and adoration, fail?

Lovely Amyra, shouldst thou prize
The empty uoise that a fine title makes;
Or the vile trash that with the vulgar takes,

Before a heart that bleeds for thee, and dies?
Unkind! but pity the poor swain
Your rigour kills, nor triumph o'er the slain.”

A SONG.

SEE what a conquest Love has made!
Beneath the myrtle's amorous shade
The charming fair Corinna lies
All melting in desire,
Quenching in tears those flowing eyes
That set the world on fire!

What cannot tears and beauty do?
The youth by chance stood by, and knew
For whom those crystal streams did flow;
And though he ne'er before

To her eyes brightest, rays did bow,
Weeps too, and does adore.

So when the Heavens serene and clear,
Gilded with gaudy light appear,
Each craggy rock, and every stone,
Their native rigour keep; -
But when in rain the clouds fall down,
The hardest marble weeps.

TO MR. HENRY DICKINSON,

ON HIS TRANSLATION OF

SIMON'S CRITICAL HISTORY OF THE OLD
TESTAMENT.

WHAT senseless loads have over-charg'd the press,
Of French impertinence, in English dress!
How many dull translators every day
Bring new supplies of novel, farce, or play!
Like damn'd French pensioners, with foreign aid
Their native land with nonsense to invade,
Till we're o'er-run more with the wit of France,
Her nauseous wit, than with her protestants.
But, sir, this noble piece obligeth more
Than all their trash hath plagu'd the town before:
With various learning, knowledge, strength of
thought,

Order and art, and solid judgment fraught;
No less a piece than this could make amends
For all the trumpery France amongst us sends.
Nor let ill-grounded superstitious fear
Fright any but the fools from reading here.
The sacred oracles may well endure

Th' exactest search, of their own truth secure ;
Though at this piece some noisy zealots bawl,
And to their aid a numerous faction call
With stretch'd-out arms, as if the ark could fall;
Yet wiser heads will think so firm it stands,
That, were it shook, 'twould need no mortal
hands.

TO MR. DRYDEN,

ON HIS TROILUS AND CRESSIDA, 1679.
AND will our master poet then admit
A young beginner in the trade of Wit,
To bring a plain and rustic Muse, to wait
On his in all her glorious pomp and state?
Can an unknown, unheard-of, private name,
Add any lustre to so bright a fame ?
No! sooner planets to the Sun may give
That light which they themselves from him derive.
Nor could my sickly fancy entertain
A thought so foolish, or a pride so vain.
But, as when kings through crowds in triumphs go,
The meanest wretch that gazes at the show,
Though to that pomp his voice can add no more,
Than when we drops into the ocean pour,
Has leave his tongue in praises to employ
(Th' accepted language of officious joy):
So I in loud applauses may reveal

To you, great king of verse, my loyal zeal,
May tell with what majestic grace and mien
Your Muse displays herself in every scene;
In what rich robes she has fair Cressid drest,
And with what gentle fires inflam'd her breast.
How when those fading eyes her aid implor'd,
She all their sparkling lustre has restor❜d,
Added more charms, fresh beauties on them shed,
And to new youth recall'd the lovely maid.
How nobly she the royal brothers draws;
How great their quarrel, and how great their cause!
How justly rais'd! and by what just degrees,
In a sweet calm does the rough tempest cease!
Envy not now "the god-like Roman's rage;"
Hector and Troilus, darlings of our age,
Shall hand in hand with Brutus tread the stage.

VOL. IX.

Shakespeare, 'tis true, this tale of Troy first told,
But, as with Ennius Virgil did of old,

You found it dirt, but you have made it gold.
A dark and undigested heap it lay,

Like Chaos ere the dawn of infant Day,
But you did first the cheerful light display.
Confus'd it was as Epicurus' world

Of atoms, by blind Chance together burl'd,
But you have made such order through it shine
As loudly speaks the workmanship divine.

Boast then, O Troy! and triumph in thy flames,
That make thee sung by three such mighty names.
Had Ilium stood, Homer had ne'er been read,
Nor the sweet Mantuan swan his wings display'd,
Nor thou, the third, but equal in renown,
Thy matchless skill in this great subject shown.
Not Priam's self, nor all the Trojan state,
Was worth the saving at so dear a rate.
But they now flourish, by you mighty three,
In verse more lasting than their walls could be:
Which never, never shall like them decay,
Being built by hands divine as well as they;
Never till, our great Charles being sung by you,
Old Troy shall grow less famous than the New.

PARIS TO HELEN.

TRANSLATED FROM OVID'S EPISTLES.

THE ARGUMENT.

Paris, having sailed to Sparta for the obtaining of Helen, whom Venus had promised him as the reward of his adjudging the prize of beauty to her, was nobly there entertained by Menelaus, Helen's husband; but he, being called away to Crete, to take possession of what was left him by his grandfather Atreus, commends his guest to the care of his wife. In his absence Paris courts her, and writes to her the following epistle.

ALL health, fair nymph, thy Paris sends to thee,
Though you, and only you, can give it me.
Shall I then speak? or is it needless grown
To tell a passion that itself has shown?
Does not my love itself too open lay,
And all I think in all I do betray?
If not, oh! may it still in secret lie,

Till Time with our kind wishes shall comply;
Till all our joys may to us come sincere,
Nor lose their price by the allay of fear!
In vain I strive; who can that fire conceal,
Which does itself by its own light reveal?
But, if you needs would hear my trembling tongue
Speak what my actions have declar'd so long,
I love; you've there the word that does impart
The truest message from my bleeding heart:
To you, my fair physician, my disease,
Forgive me, madam, that I thus confess
And with such looks this suppliant paper grace,
As best become the beauties of that face.

May that smooth brow no angry wrinkle wear,
But be your looks as kind as they are fair.
Some pleasure 'tis to think these lines shall find
An entertainment at your hands so kind.
For this creates a hope, that I too may,
Receiv'd by you, as happy be as they.

Ah! may that hope be true! nor I complain
That Venus promis'd you to me in vain:
For know, lest you through ignorance offend
The gods, 'tis Heaven that me does hither send.
None of the meanest of the powers divine,
That first inspir'd, still favours my design.
Great is the prize I seek, I must confess,
But neither is my due or merit less:
Venus has promis'd she would you assign,
Fair as herself, to be for ever mine.
Guided by her, my Troy I left for thee,
Nor fear'd the dangers of the faithless sea.
She, with a kind and an auspicious gale,
Drove the good ship, and stretch'd out every sail :
For she, who sprung out of the teeming deep,
Still o'er the main does her wide empire keep,
Still may she keep it! and as she with ease
Allays the wrath of the most angry seas,
So may she give my stormy mind some rest,
And calm the raging tempest of my breast,
And bring home all my sighs and all my vows
To their wish'd harbour and desir'd repose!
Hither my flames I brought, not found them
here;

I my whole course by their kind light did steer:
For I by no mistake or storm was tost
Against my will upon this happy coast.
Nor as a merchant did I plow the main
To venture life, like sordid fools, for gain.
No; may the gods preserve my present store,
And only give me you to make it more!
Nor to admire the place came I so far;
I have towns richer than your cities are.
"Tis you I seek, to me from Venus due;
You were my wish, before your charms I knew.
Bright images of you my mind did draw,
Long ere my eyes the lovely object saw.
Nor wonder that, with the swift-winged dart,
At such a distance you could wound my heart:
So Fate ordain'd; and lest you fight with Fate,
Hear and believe the truth I shall relate.

Now in my mother's womb shut up 1 lay,
Her fatal burthen longing for the day,
When she in a mysterious dream was told,
Her teeming womb a burning torch did hold;
Frighted she rises, and her vision she
To Priam tells, and to his prophets he;
They sing, that I all Troy should set on fire;
But sure Fate meant the flames of my desire.
For fear of this, among the swains expos'd,
My native greatness every thing disclos'd.
Beauty, and strength, and courage, join'd in one,
Through all disguise, spoke me a monarch's son.
A place there is in Ida's thickest grove,
With oaks and fir-trees shaded all above,
The grass here grows untouched by bleating flocks,
Or mountain goat, or the laborious ox. [pride,
From hence Troy's towers, magnificence, and
Leaning against an aged oak, I spy'd.
When straight methought I heard the trembling
ground

With the strange noise of trampling feet resound.
In the same instant Jove's great messenger,
On all bis wings borne through the yielding air,
Lighting before my wondering eyes did stand,
His golden rod shone in his sacred hand:
With him three charming goddesses there came,
Juno, and Pallas, and the Cyprian dame.
With an unusual fear I stood amaz'd,
Till thus the god my sinking courage rais'd:

"Fear not; thou art Jove's substitute below,
The prize of heavenly beauty to bestow;
Contending goddesses appeal to you,
Decide their strife." He spake, and up he flew.
Then, bolder grown, I throw my fears away,
And every one with curious eyes survey:
Each of them merited the victory,

And I their doubtful judge was griev'd to see,
That one must have it, when deserv'd by three.
But yet that one there was which most prevail'd,
And with more powerful charms my heart assail'd:
Ah! would you know who thus my breast could
move?

Who could it be but the fair queen of love?
With mighty bribes they all for conquest strive,
Juno will empires, Pallas valour give,
Whilst I stand doubting which I should prefer,
Empire's soft ease, or glorious toils of war;
But Venus gently smil'd, and thus she spake:
"They're dangerous gifts: O do not, do not take!
I'll make thee love's immortal pleasures know,
And joys that in full tides for ever flow.
For, if you judge the conquest to be mine,
Fair Leda's fairer daughter shall be thine."
She spake; and I gave her the conquest due,
Both to her beauty, and her gift of you.

Meanwhile (my angry stars more gentle grown)
I am acknowledg'd royal Priam's son.
All the glad court, all Troy does celebrate,
With a new festival, my change of fate.
And as I now languish and die for thee,
So did the beauties of all Troy for me.
You o'er a heart with sovereign power do reign;
For which a thousand virgins sigh'd in vain:
Nor did queens only fly to my embrace,
But nymphs of form divine, and heavenly race.
I all their loves with cold disdain represt,
Since hopes of you first fir'd my longing breast.
Your charming form all day my fancy drew,
And when night came, my dreams were all of

you.

What pleasures then must you yourself impart, Whose shadows only so surpris'd my heart! And oh! how did I burn approaching nigher, That was so scorch'd by so remote a fire!

For now no longer could my hopes refrain From seeking their wish'd object through the main. I fell the stately pine, and every tree That best was fit to cut the yielding sea, Fetch'd from Gargarian hills, tall firs I cleave, And Ida naked to the winds I leave, Stiff oaks I bend, and solid planks I form, And every ship with well-knit ribs I arm. To the tall mast I sails and streamers join, And the gay poops with painted gods do shine, But on my ship does only Venus stand With little Cupid smiling in her hand, Guide of the way she did herself command. My fleet thus rigg'd, and all my thoughts on thee, I long to plow the vast Egéan sea; My anxious parents my desires withstand, And both with pious tears my stay command. Cassandra too, with loose dishevell❜d hair, Just as our hasty ships to sail prepare, Full of prophetic fury cries aloud, "O whither steers my brother through the flood? Little, ah! little dost thou know or heed To what a raging fire these waters lead!” True were her fears, and in my breast I feel The scorching flames her fury did foretel.

PARIS TO HELEN.

Yet out I sail, and, favoured by the wind,
On your blest shore my wish'd-for haven find;
Your husband then, so Heaven, kind Heaven or-
dains,

In his own house his rival entertains,
Shows me whate'er in Sparta does delight
The curious traveller's inquiring sight:
But I, who only long'd to gaze on you,
Could taste no pleasure in the idle shew.
But at thy sight, oh! where was then my heart!
Out from my breast it gave a sudden start,
Sprung forth and met half way the fatal dart.
Such or less charming was the queen of love,
When with her rival goddesses she strove.
But, fairest, hadst thou come among the three,
Ev'n she the prize must have resign'd to thee.
Your beauty is the only theme of Fame,
And all the world sounds with fair Helen's name:
Nor lives there she whom pride itself can raise
To claim with you an equal share of praise.
Do I speak false? Rather Report does so,
Detracting from you in a praise too low.
More here I find than that could ever tell,
So much your beauty does your fame excel.
Well then might Theseus, he who all things knew,
Think none was worthy of his theft but you;
I this bold theft admire; but wonder more
He ever would so dear a prize restore:
Ah! would these hands have ever let you go?
Or could live, and be divorc'd from you?
No; sooner I with life itself could part,
Than e'er see you torn from my bleeding heart.
But could I do as he, and give you back,
Yet sure some taste of love I first would take,
Would first, in all your blooming excellence
And virgin sweets, feast my luxurious sense;
Or if you would not let that treasure go,
Kisses at least you should, you would bestow,
And let me smell the flower as it did
Come then into my longing arms, and try
grow.
My lasting, fix'd, eternal constancy,
Which never till my funeral pile shall waste;
My present fire shall mingle with my last.
Sceptres and crowns for you I did disdain,
With which great Juno tempted me in vain.
And when bright Pallas did her bribes prepare,
One soft embrace from you I did prefer
To courage, strength, and all the pomp of war.
Nor shall I ever think my choice was ill,
My judgment's settled, and approves it still.
Do you but grant my hopes may prove as true,
As they were plac'd above all things but you.
I am, as well as you, of heavenly race,
Nor will my birth your mighty line disgrace.
Pallas and Jove our noble lineage head,
And them a race of godlike kings succeed.
All Asia's sceptres to my father bow,
And half the spacious East his power allow.
There you shall see the houses roof'd with gold,
And temples glorious as the gods they hold.
Troy you shall see, and walls divine admire,
Built to the concert of Apollo's lyre.
What need I the vast flood of people tell,
That over its wide banks does almost swell?
You shall gay troops of Phrygian matrons meet,
And Trojan wives shining in every street.
How often then will you yourself confess
The emptiness and poverty of Greece!
How often will you say, one palace there
Contains more wealth than do whole cities here!

227

I speak not this, your Sparta to disgrace,
For wheresoe'er your life began its race
Must be to me the happiest, dearest place.
Yet Sparta's poor; and you, that should be drest
In all the riches of the shining East,
Should understand how ill that sordid place
Suits with the beauty of your charming face;
That face with costly dress and rich attire
Should shine, and make the gazing world admire.
When you the habit of my Trojans see,
What, think you, must that of their ladies be?
Oh! then be kind, fair Spartan, nor disdain
A Trojan in your bed to entertain.
He was a Trojan, and of our great line,
That to the gods does mix immortal wine;
Tithonus too, whom to her rosy bed
The goddess of the Morning blushing led;
So was Anchises of our Trojan race,
Yet Venus' self to his desir'd embrace,
With all her train of little Loves, did fly,
And in his arms learn'd for a while to lie.
Nor do I think that Menelaus can,
Compar'd with me, appear the greater man.
With frighted steeds from his dire banquet run:
I'm sure my father never made the Sun
No grandfather of mine is stain'd with blood,
Or with his crime names the Myrtoan flood.
None of our race does in the Stygian lake
Snatch at those apples he wants power to take.
But stay; since you with such a husband join,
Your father Jove is forc'd to grace his line.

He (gods!) a wretch unworthy of those charms
Does all the night lie melting in your arms,
Does every minute to new joys improve,
And riots in the luscious sweets of love.
I but at table one short view can gain,
And that too, only to increase my pain:
O may such feasts my worst of foes attend,
As often I at your spread table find.
I loath my food, when my tormented eye
Sees his rude hand in your soft bosom lie.
I burst with envy when I him behold
Your tender limbs in his loose robe infold.
When he your lips with melting kisses seal'd,
Before my eyes I the large goblet held.
When you with him in strict embraces close,
My hated meat to my dry'd palate grows.
Oft have I sigh'd, then sigh'd again, to see
That sigh with scornful smiles repaid by thee.
Oft I with wine would quench my hot desire:
In vain; for so I added fire to fire.
Oft have I turn'd away my head in vain,
You straight recall'd my longing eyes again.
What shall I do? Your sports with grief I see,
But it's a greater, not to look on thee.
With all my art I strive my flames to hide,
But through the thin disguise they are descry'd.
Too well, alas! my wounds to you are known,
And O that they were so to you alone!
How oft turn 1 my weeping eyes away,
Lest he the cause should ask, and I betray!

What tales of love tell I, when warm'd with

wine,

To your dear face applying every line!
In borrow'd names I my own passion shew:
They the feign'd lovers are, but I the true.
Sometimes, more freedom in discourse to gain,
For my excuse I drunkenness would feign.
Once I remember your loose garment fell,
And did your naked, swelling breasts reveal,

Breasts white as snow, or the false down of Jove,
When to your mother the kind swan made love:
Whilst, with the sight surpris'd, I gazing stand,
The cup I held dropt from my careless hand.
If you your young Hermione but kiss,
Straight from her lips 1 snatch the envy'd bliss.
Sometimes supinely laid, love songs I sing,
And wafted kisses from my fingers fling.
Your women to my aid I try to move
With all the powerful rhetoric of love;
But they, alas! speak nothing but despair,
And in the midst leave my neglected prayer.
Oh! that by some great prize you might be won,
And your possession might the victor crown,
As Pelops his Hippodamia won :

Then had you seen what I for you had done:
But now I've nothing left to do but pray,
And myself prostrate at your feet to lay.
O thou, thy house's glory, brighter far
Than thy two shining brothers' friendly star!
O worthy of the bed of Heaven's great king,
If aught so fair but from himself could spring!
Either with thee I back to Troy will fly,
Or here a wretched banish'd lover die.
With no slight wound my tender breast does smart,
My bones and marrow feel the piercing dart;
I find my sister true did prophesy,
I with a heavenly dart should wounded die;
Despise not then a love by Heaven design'd,
So may the gods still to your vows be kind!
Much I could say; but what, will best be known
In your apartment, when we are alone.
You blush, and, with a superstitious dread,
Fear to defile the sacred marriage bed:
Ah! Helen, can you then so simple be,
To think such beauty can from faults be free?
Or change that face, or you must needs be kind;
Beauty and Virtue seldom have been join'd.
Jove and bright Venus do our thefts approve,
Such thefts as these gave you your father Jove.
And if in you aught of your parents last,
Can Jove and Leda's daughter well be chaste?
Yet then be chaste when we to Troy shall go
(For she who sins with one alone, is so):
But let us now enjoy that pleasing sin,
Then marry, and be innocent again.
Ev'n your own husband doth the same persuade,
Silent himself, yet all his actions plead:

For me they plead, and he, good man! because
He'll spoil no sport, officiously withdraws.
Had he no other time to visit Crete?
Oh! how prodigious is a husband's wit!
He went; and, as he went, he cry'd, " My dear
Instead of me, you of your guest take care!"
But you forget your lord's command, I see,
Nor take you any care of Love or me.
And think you such a thing as he does know
The treasure that he holds in holding you?
No; did he understand but half your charms,
He durst not trust them in a stranger's arms.
If neither his nor my request can move,
We're fore'd by opportunity to love;
We should be fools, ev'n greater fools than he,
Should so secure a time unactive be.
Alone these tedious winter nights you lie
In a cold widow'd bed, and so do 1.
Let mutual joys our willing bodies join,
That happy night shall the mid-day out-shine.
Then will I swear by all the powers above,
And in their awful presence seal my love.

Then, if my wishes may aspire so high,
I with our flight shall win you to comply;
But, if nice honour little scruples frame,
The force I'll use shall vindicate your fame.
Of Theseus and your brothers I can learn,
No precedents so nearly you concern:
You Theseus, they Leucippus' daughter stole;
I'll be the fourth in the illustrious roll.
Wellmann'd, well arm'd, for you my fleet does stay,
And waiting winds murmur at our delay.
Through Troy's throng'd streets you shall in
triumph go,

Ador'd as some new goddess here below.
Where'er you tread, spices and gums shall smoke,
And victims fall beneath the fatal stroke.
My father, mother, all the joyful court,
All Troy, to you with presents shall resort.
Alas! 'tis nothing what I yet have said;
What there you'll find, shall what I write exceed.
Nor fear, lest war pursue our hasty flight,
And angry Greece should all her force unite.
What ravish'd maid did ever wars regain?
Vain the attempt, and fear of it as vain.
The Thracians Orithya stole from far,
Yet Thrace ne'er heard the noise of following war.
Jason too stole away the Colchian maid,
Yet Colchos did not Thessaly invade.
He who stole you, stole Ariadne too,
Yet Minos did not with all Crete pursue.
Fear in these cases than the danger's more,
And, when the threatening tempest once is o'er,
Our shame's then greater than our fear before.
But say from Greece a threaten'd war pursue,
Know I have strength and wounding weapons too.
In men and horse more numerous than Greece
Our empire is, nor in its compass less.
Nor does your husband Paris aught excel
In generous courage, or in martial skill.
Ev'n but a boy, from my slain foes I gain'd
My stol'n herd, and a new name attain'd;
Ev'n then, o'ercome by me, I could produce
Deïphobus and great Ilioneus.

Nor hand to hand more to be fear'd am 1,
Than when from far my certain arrows fly.
You for his youth can no such actions feign,
Nor can be e'er my envy'd skill attain.
But could he, Hector's your security,
And he alone an army is to me.

You know me not, nor the hid prowess find
Of him that Heaven has for your bed design'd.
Either no war from Greece shall follow thee,
Or, if it does, shall be repell'd by me.
Nor think I fear to fight for such a wife,
That prize would give the coward's courage life.
All after-ages shall your fame admire,
If you alone set the whole world on fire,
To sea, to sea, while all the gods are kind,
And all I promise, you in Troy shall find,

THE EPISTLE OF
ACONTIUS TO CYDIPPE
TRANSLATED FROM OVID.

THE ARGUMENT.

Acontius in the temple of Diana at Delos (famous for the resort of the most beautiful virgins of all Greece) fell in love with Cydippe, a lady of

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