And with the Gentiles much Thon must converse,

Ruling them by persuasion, as Thon mean'st. Without their learning, how wilt Thou with them,

Or they with Thee, hold conversation meet?
How wilt Thou reason with them, how refute
Their idolisms, traditions, paradoxes?
Error by his own arms is best evinced.

Look once more, ere we leave this specular mount,

Westward, much nearer by south-west, behold,
Where on the Egean shore a city stands,
Bui't nobly, pure the air, and light the soil,
Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts
And eloquence, native to famous wits
Or hospitable, in her sweet recess,

City or suburban, studious walks and shades.
See there the olive grove of Academe,
Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird

Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long:

There flowery hill Hymettus, with the sound
Of bees' industrious murmur, oft invites

To studious musing, there Пlissus r. Ils

His whispering stream: with n the walls then view

The schools of ancient sages; his, who bred
Great Alexander to subdue the world,
Lyceum there, and painted Stoa next:

There shat Thou hear and learn the secret

power

Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit

By voice or hand, and various-measured verse,
Eolian charms, and Dorian lyric odes,
And his who gave them breath, but higher sung,
Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer call'd,
Whose poem Phoebus challenged for his own:
Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught
In chorus or iambic, teachers best

Of moral prudence, with delight received
In brief sententions precepts, while they treat
Of fate. and chance, and change in human life,
High actions, and high passions best describing
Thence to the famous orators repair,
Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence
Wielded at will that fierce democratie.
Shook the arsenal, and fulmined over Greece
To Macedon and Artaxerxes's throne:
To sage philosophy next lend thine ear,
From heaven descended to the low-roof'd house
Of Socrates; see there his tenement,
Whom well inspired the oracle pronounced
Wisest of men; from whose mouth issued forth
Mellifluous streams, that water'd all the schools
Of Academics, old and new, with those
Surnamed Peripatetics, and the sect
Epicurean, and the Stoic severe;
These here revolve, or, as Thou likest, at home,
Till time mature Thee to a kingdom's weight:
These rules will render Thee a king complete
Within Thyself, much more with empire join'd."
To whom our Saviour sagely thus replied:
"Think not but that I know these things, or
think

I know them not; not therefore am I short
Of knowing what I ought: he, who receives
Light from above, from the fountain of light,
No other doctrine needs, though granted true:
But these are false, or little else but dreams,
Conjectures, fancies, built on nothing firm.
The first and wisest of them all profess'd
To know this only, that he nothing knew:
The next to fabling fell, and smooth conceits:
A third sort doubted all things, though plain

As fearing God nor man, contemning all Wealth, pleasure, pain or torment, death and life,

Which, when he lists, he leaves, or boasts he

can,

For all his tedious talk is but vain boast,
Or subtle shifts conviction to evade.
Alas! what can they teach, and not mislead,
Ignorant of themselves, of God much more,
And how the world began, and how man fell,
Degraded by himself, on grace depending?
Much of the sonl they talk, but all awry.
And in themselves seek virtue; and to them-
selves

All glory arrogate, to God give none;
Rather accuse him under usual names,
Fortune and Fate, as one regardless quite

Of mortal things. Who, therefore, seeks in these

True wisdom, finds her not; or, by delusion,
Far worse, her false resemblance only meets,
An empty cloud. However, many books,
Wise men have said, are wearisome; who reads
Incessantly, and to his reading brings not
A spirit and judgment equal or superior,
(And what he brings, what needs he elsewhere
seek ?)

Uncertain and unsettled still remains,

Deep versed in books, and shallow in himself,
Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys

And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge;
As children gathering pebbles on the shore.
Or, if I would delight my private hours
With music or with poem, where so soon,
As in our native language, can I find
That solace? All out law and story strew'd
With hymns, our psalms with artful terms in-

scribed,

Our hebrew songs and harps, in Babylon,
That pleased so well our victor's ear, declare
That rather Greece from us these arts derived;
Ill imitated, while they loudest sing
The vices of their deities, and their own,
In fable, hymn, or song, so personating
Their gods ridiculous, and themselves past
shame.

Remove their swelling epithets, thick laid
As varnish on a harlot's cheek: the rest,
Thin sown with aught of profit or delight,
Will far be found unworthy to compare
With Sion's songs, to all true tastes excelling,
Where God is praised aright and godlike men,
The holiest of holies, and His saints,
(Such are from God inspired, not such from
thee,)

Unless where moral virtue is express'd
By light of nature, not in all quite lost.
Their orators thou then extoll'st as those
The top of eloquence; statists indeed,
And lovers of their country as may seem;
But herein to our prophets far beneath.
As men divinely taught, and better teaching
The solid rules of civil government,
In their majestic, unaffected style,
Than all the oratory of Greece and Rome.
In them is plainest taught, and easiest learnt,
What makes a nation happy, and keeps it so,
What ruins kingdoms, and lays cities flat:
These only with our law best form a king."

So spake the Son of God; but Satan, now
Quite at a loss, (for all his darts were spent.)
Thus to our Saviour, with stern brow, replied:
"Since neither wealth nor honour, arms nor

arts,

Kingdom nor empire pleases Thee, nor aught
By me proposed in life contemplative

Or active, tended on by glory or fame.
What dost Thou in this world? The wilderness
For Thee is fittest place; I found Thee there,
And thither will return Thee; yet remember
What I foretell Thee, soon Thou shalt have

cause

To wish Thou never hadst rejected, thus

Voluminous or single characters,

In their conjunction met, gave me to spell,
Sorrows and labours, opposition, hate,
Attend Thee: scorns, reproaches, injuries,
Violence and stripes, and, lastly, cruel death:

A kingdom they portend Thee, but what kingdom,

Real or allegoric, I discern not;

Nor when; eternal sure, as without end,
Without beginning; for no date prefix'd'
Directs me in the starry rubric set."

So say, he took, (for still he knew his power
Not yet expired.) and to the wilderness
Brought back the Son of God, and left Him
there,

Feigning to disappear. Darkness now rose
As daylight sunk, and brought in louring night,
Her shadowy offspring, unsubstantial both,
Privation mere of light, and absent day.

Our Saviour meek, and with untroubled mind
After His aëry jaunt, though hurried sore,
Hungry and cold, betook Him to His rest,
Wherever, under some concourse of shades
Whose branching arms thick intertwined might
shield

From dews and damps of night His shelter'd head,

But, shelter'd, slept in vain: for at His head, The tempter watch'd, and soon with ugly dreams

Disturb'd His sleep: and either tropic now 'Gan thunder, and both ends of heaven; the clouds,

From many a horrid rift, abortive pour'd
Fierce rain with lightning mix'd, water with
fire

In ruin reconciled: nor slept the winds
Within their stony caves, but rush'd abroad
From the four hinges of the world, and fell
On the vex'd wilderness, whose tallest pines,
Though rooted deep as high, and sturdiest oaks,
Bow'd their stiff necks, loaden with stormy
blasts,

Or torn up sheer. Ill wast Thou shrouded then,

O patient Son of God, yet only stood'st
Unshaken! Nor yet staid the terror there;
Infernal ghosts, and hellish furies round
Environ'd Thee, some howl'd, some yell'd some
shriek'd.

Some bent at Thee their flery darts, while Thou
Sat st unappall'd in calm and sinless peace!
Thus pass'd the night so foul, till morning fair
Came forth with pilgrim steps, in amice gray,
Who, with her radiant finger, still'd the roar
Of thunder, chased the clouds, and laid the
winds,

And grisly spectres, which the fiend had raised
To tempt the Son of God with terrors dire.
And now the sun with more effectual beams
Had cheer'd the face of earth, and dried the
wet

From drooping plant, or dropping tree; the birds,

Who all things now behold more fresh and green,

After a night of storm so ruinous,

Clear'd up their choicest notes in bush and spray,

To gratulate the sweet return of morn.
Nor yet, amidst this joy and brightest morn,
Was absent, after all his mischief done,

The prince of darkness; glad would also seem
Of this fair change, and to our Saviour came;

Yet with no new device, (they all were spent.'
Rather by this his last affront resolved,
Desperate of better course, to vent his rage
And mad despite to be so oft repell'd.
Him walking on a sunny hill He found.
Back'd on the north and west by a thick wood;
Out of the wood he starts in wonted shape,
And in a careless mood thus to Him said:

"Fair morning yet betides Thee, Son of God. After a dismal night: I heard the wrack, As earth and sky would mingle; but myself Was distant; and these flaws, though morta's fear them,

As dangerous to the pillar'd frame of heaven,
Or to the earth's dark basis underneath,
Are to the main as inconsiderable

And harmless, if not wholesome, as a sneeze
To man's less universe, and soon are gone;
Yet, as being ofttimes noxions where they light
On man, beast, plant, wasteful and turbulent,
Like turbulencies in the affairs of men,
Over whose heads they roar, and seem to point,
They oft fore signify and threaten ill:
This tempest at this desert most was bent;
Of men at Thee, for only Thou here dwell'st.
Did I not tell Thee, if Thou didst reject
The perfect season offer'd with aid
To win Thy destined seat, but will prolong
All to the push of fate, pursue Thy way
Of gaining David's throne, no man knows
when.

(For both the when and how is nowhere told), Thou shalt be what Thou art ordain'd, no doubt?

For angels have proclaim'd it, but concealing The time and means. Each act is rightliest done

Not when it must, but when it may be best:
If Thou observe not this, be sure to find,
What I foretold thee, many a hard assay
Of dangers and adversities, and pains,
Ere Thou of Israel's sceptre get fast hold;
Whereof this ominous night, that closed Thee
round,

So many terrors, voices, prodigies,

May warn Thee, as a sure foregoing sign."

So talk'd he, while the Son of God went on, And staid not, but in brief him answer'd thus: "Me worse than wet thou find'st not: other harm

Those terrors, which thou speak'st of, did me

none;

I never fear'd they could, though noising loud And threatening nigh: what they can do, as signs

Betokening, or ill-boding, I contemn

As false portents, not sent from God, but thee: Who, knowing I shall reign past thy preventing,

Obtrudest thy offer'd aid, that I, accepting,
At least might seem to hold all power of thee,
Ambitious spirit! and wouldst be thought my

god;

And storm'st, refused. thinking to terrify
Me to thy will! Desist (thou art discern'd.
And toil'st in vain), nor me in vain molest."
To whom the fiend, now swoln with rage, re-
plied:

"Then hear, O Son of David, virgin-born,
For Son of God to me is yet in doubt:
Of the Messiah I had heard foretold
By all the prophets; of Thy birth at length,
Announced by Gabriel, with the first I knew,
And of the angelic song in Bethlehem field,
On Thy birth-night, that sung Thee Saviour
born.

From that time seldom have I ceased to eve
Thy infancy, Thy childhood, and Thy youth,
Thy manhood last, though yet in private bred;
Till, at the ford of Jordan, whither all
Flock to the Baptist, I, among the rest,
(Though not to be baptized,) by voice from
heaven

And narrower scrutiny, that I might learn
In what degree or meaning Thou art call'd
The Son of God, which bears no single sense.
The Son of God I also am, or was;
And if I was, I am; relation stands;
All men are sons of God; yet Thee I thought
In some respect far higher so declared:
Therefore I watch'd Thy footsteps from that
hour,

And follow'd Thee still on to this waste wild,
Where, by all best conjectures, I collect
Thou art to be my fatal enemy:

Good reason, then, if I beforehand seek
To understand my adversary, who

And what He is: His wisdom, power, intent:
By parle or composition, truce or league,
To win Him, or win from Him what I can:
And opportunity I here have had

To try Thee, sift Thee, and confess have found
Thee

Proof against all temptation, as a rock
Of adamant, and, as à centre, firm;

To the utmost of mere man both wise and good,
Not more; for honours, riches, kingdoms, glory,
Have been before contemn'd, and may again.
Therefore, to know what more Thou art than

man

Worth naming Son of God by voice from heaven,

Another method I must now begin."

So saying, he caught him up. and, without wing

Of hippogriff, bore through the air sublime,
Over the wilderness and o'er the plain,
Till underneath them fair Jerusalem,
The holy city, lifted high her towers,
And higher yet the glorious temple rear'd
Her pile, far off appearing like a mount
Of alabaster, topt with golden spires:
There, on the highest pinnacle. he set
The Son of God, and added thus in scorn:

"There stand, if Thou wilt stand; to stand upright

Will ask Thee skill: I to Thy Father's house Have brought Thee, and highest placed: highest is best:

Now shew Thy progeny: if not to stand,
Cast Thyself down; safely, if Son of God:
For it is written, He will give command
Concerning thee to His angels; in their hands
They shall uplift Thee, lest at any time
Thou chance to dash Thy foot against a stone."
To whom thus Jesus: " Also it is written,
Tempt not the Lord thy God." He said, and
stood.

But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell;
As when earth's son, Antæus, (to compare
Small things with greatest,) in Irassa strove
With Jove's Alcides, and, oft foil'd, still rose,
Receiving from his mother Earth new strength,
Fresh from his fall, and fiercer grapple join'd,
Throttled at length in the air, expired and fell;
So, after many a foil, the tempter proud,
Renewing fresh assaults, amidst his pride,
Fell whence he stood to see his victor fall:
And as that Theban monster, that proposed

Cast herself headlong from the Ismenian steep: So, struck with dread and anguish, fell the fiend,

And to his crew, that sat consulting, brought
Joyless triumphals of his hoped success,
Ruin, and desperation, and dismay,
Who durst so proudly tempt the Son of God.
So Satan fell; and straight a fiery globe
Of angels on full sail of wing flew nigh,
Who on their plumy vans received Him soft
From His uneasy station, and upbore.
As on a floating couch, through the blithe air;
Then, in a flowery valley, set Him down
On a green bank, and set before Him spread
A table of celestial food, divine,
Ambrosial fruits, fetch'd from the tree of life,
And from the fount of life ambrosial drink,
That soon refresh'd Him wearied, and repair'd
What hunger, if aught hunger, had impair'd,
Or thirst; and, as He fed, angelic quirés
Sung heavenly anthems of His victory
Over temptation and the tempter proud:
"True image of the Father: whether throned
In the bosom of bliss, and light of light
Conceiving, or, remote from heaven, enshrined
In fleshly tabernacle, and human form,
Wandering the wilderness; whatever place,
Habit, or state, or motion, still expressing
The Son of God, with god-like force endued
Against the attempter of thy Father's throne,
And thief of Paradise! Him long of old
Thou didst debel, and down from heaven cast
With all his army; now Thou hast avenged
Supplanted Adam, and, by vanquishing
Temptation, hast regain'd lost Paradise,
And frustrated the conquest fraudulent.
He never more henceforth will dare set foot
In Paradise to tempt; his snares are broke:
For, though that scat of earthly bliss be fail'd,
A fairer Paradise is founded now

For Adam and his chosen sons, whom Thou,
A Saviour, art come down to reinstal,
Where they shall dwell secure, when time shall
be,

Of tempter and temptation without fear.
But thou, infernal serpent! shalt not long
Rule in the clouds; like an autumnal star,
Or lightning, thou shalt fall from heaven, trod
down

Under His feet; for proof, ere this thou feel'st
Thy wound, (yet not thy last and deadliest

wound,)

By this repulse received, and hold'st in hell
No triumph: in all her gates Abaddon rues
Thy bold attempt. Hereafter learn with awe
To dread the Son of God; He, all unarm'd.
Shall chase thee, with the terror of His voice,
From thy demoniac holds, possession foul.
Thee and thy legions: yelling they shall fly,
And beg to hide them in a herd of swine,
Lest He command them down into the deep.
Bound, and to torment sent before their tiine.
Hail, Son of the Most High, heir of both worlds,
Queller of Satan! on Thy glorious work
Now enter, and begin to save mankind."

Thus they the Son of God, our Saviour meck, Sung victor, and, from heavenly feast refresh'd, Brought on His way with joy; He, unobserved Home to His mother's house private return'd.

dant Spirit descends or enters.

BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove's court
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes
Of bright aerial spirits live insphered
In regions mild of calm and serene air,
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot,

Which men call earth; and, with low-thoughted

care,

Confined and pester'd in this pinfold here,
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,
Unmindful of the crown that virtue gives,
After this mortal change, to her true servants,
Amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seats.
Yet some there be that, by due steps, aspire
To lay their just hands on that golden key,
That opes the palace of eternity:

To such my errand is: and, but for such,
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds
With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould.
But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway
Of every salt flood, and each ebbing stream,
Took in by lot, 'twixt high and nether Jove,
Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles,
That, like to rich and various gems, inlay
The unadorned bosom of the deep,
Which he, to grace his tributary gods.
By course commits to several government.

And gives them leave to wear their sapphire

crowns,

And wield their little tridents: but this isle,
The greatest and the best of all the main,
He quarters to his blue-hair'd deities:
And all this tract that fronts the falling sun,
A noble peer, of mickle trust and power,
Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide
An old and haughty nation, proud in arms;
Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely
lore,

Are coming to attend their father's state,
And new-intrusted sceptre; but their way
Lies through the perplex'd paths of this drear
wood,

The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger:
And here their tender age might suffer peril,
But that, by quick command from sovereign
Jove,

I was dispatch'd for their defence and guard:
And listen why; for I will tell you now
What never yet was heard in tale or song,
From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.

Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape
Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine,
After the Tuscan mariners transform'd,
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds
listed,

On Circe's island fell: (who knows not Circe, The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup Whoever tasted, lost his upright shape,

This nymph, that gazed upon his clustering

locks,

With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth,
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son
Much like his father, but his mother more.
Whom, therefore, she brought up, and Comus
named:
Who, ripe and frolic of his full-grown age.

Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,

At last betakes him to this ominous wood,
And, in thick shelter of black shades imbower'd,
Excels his mother at her mighty art,
Offering, to every weary traveller,

His orient liquor in a crystal glass,

To quench the drought of Phoebus; which as they taste,

(For most do taste, through fond intemperate thirst,)

Soon as the potion works, their human countenance,

The express resemblance of the gods, is changed
Into some brutish form of wolf, or bear,
Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat,
Ail other parts remaining as they were;
And they, (so perfect is their misery.)
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,
But boast themselves more comely than before,
And all their friends and native home forget,
To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty
Therefore, when any, favour'd of high Jove,
Chances to pass through this adventurous glade,
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star

I shoot from lieaven, to give him safe convoy,
As now I do: but first I must put off
These my sky-robes, spun out of Iris's woof,
And take the weeds and likeness of a swain
That to the service of this house belongs,
Who, with his soft pipe, and smooth-dittied

song,

Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar,

And hush the waving woods; nor of less faith,
And in this office of his mountain watch,
Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid
Of this occasion. But I hear the tread
Of hateful steps; I must be viewless now.
Comus enters with a charming-rod in one hand, ins
glass in the other; with him a route of monsters.
headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts, but, other-
wise, like men and women, their apparel glister-
ing; they come in making a riotous and unruly
noise, with torches in their hands.

Comus. The star that bids the shepherd fold,
Now the top of heaven doth hold;
And the gilded car of day
His glowing axle doth allay
In the steep Atlantic stream,
And the slope sun his upward beam

Shoots against the dusky pole,
Pacing toward the other goal
Of his chamber in the east.

Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast,
Midnight shout and revelry,
Tipsy dance and jollity.

Braid your locks with rosy twine,
Dropping odours, dropping wine,
Rigour now is gone to bed,

And advice, with scrupulous head,
Strict age, and sour severity,

With their grave saws, in slumber lie.
We, that are of purer fire,

Imitate the starry quire,

Who, in their nightly watchful spheres,

Lead in swift round the months and years.

The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove,
Now to the moon in wavering morrice move;
And, on the tawny sands and shelves,
Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
By dimpled brook and fountain-brim,

The wood-nymphs, deck'd with daisies trim,
Their merry wakes and pastimes keep:
What hath night to do with sleep?
Night hath better sweets to prove,
Venus now wakes, and wakens Love.
Come, let us our rites begin;

Tis only daylight that makes sin,
Which these dun shades will ne'er report.
Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport,

Dark-veil'd Cotytto! to whom the secret flame
Of midnight torches burns; mysterious dame,
That ne'er art call'd but when the dragon
womb

Of Stygian darkness spits her thickest gloom,
And makes one blot of all the air;

Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,

Wherein thou ridest with Hecate, and befriend
Us, thy vow'd priests, till utmost end

Of all thy dues be done, and none left out;
Ere the blabbing eastern scout,

The nice morn, on the Indian steep,
From her cabin'd loop-hole peep,
And to the tell-tale sun descry,

Our conceal'd solemnity.

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground
In a light fantastic round.

The Measure.

Break off, break off, I feel the different pace
Of some chaste footing near about this ground.
Run to your shrouds, within these brakes and
trees:

Our number may affright! some virgin sure
(For so I can distinguish by mine art)

Benighted in these woods. Now to my charms,
And to my wily trains: I shall, ere long,
Be well stock'd with as fair a herd as grazed
About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl
My dazzling spells into the spongy air,
Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,
And give it false presentments, lest the place
And my quaint habits breed astonishment,
And put the damsel to suspicious flight:
Which must not be, for that's against my

course;

I, under fair pretence of friendly ends.
And well-placed words of glozing courtesy,
Baited with reasons not unplausible,
Wind me into the easy-hearted man,

And hug him into snares. When once her eye
Hath met the virtue of this magic dust,
I shall appear some harmless villager,
Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear.
But here she comes; I fairly step aside,
And hearken, if I may, her business here.

The LADY enters.

Lady. This way the noise was, if mine ear be true

My best guide now: methought it was the sound

Of riot and ill-managed merriment.

Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe,
Stirs up among the loose unletter'd hinds,
When, for their teeming flocks, and granges
full,

In wanton dance they praise the bounteous
Pan,

And thank the gods amiss. I should be loth
To meet the rudeness and swill'd insolence,
Of such late wassailers; yet, O! where else
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet

In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out
With this long way, resolving here to lodge
Under the spreading favour of these pines,
Stepp'd, as they said, to the next thicket-side,
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit
As the kind hospitable woods provide.
They left me, then, when the gray-hooded even,
Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed,

Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus'

With everlasting oil, to give due light
To the misled and lonely traveller?
This is the place, as well as I may guess,
Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth
Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear;
Yet nought but single darkness do I find.
What might this be? A thousand fantasies
Begin to throng into my memory,

Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire,
And aëry tongues, that syllable men's names
On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses.
These thoughts may startle well, but not
astound

The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended
By a strong siding champion, conscience.
O, welcome, pure-eyed faith, white-handed
hope,

Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings,
And thou unblemish'd form of chastity!

I see ye visibly, and now believe

That He, the Supreme God, to whom all things ill

Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,
Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,
To keep my life and honour unassail'd.
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?
I did not err, there does a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night,
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove:
I cannot halloo to my brothers, but
Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest
I'll venture: for my new-enliven'd spirits
Prompt me; and they, perhaps, are not far off.