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 it, entertained, from the circumstance, no hopes regarding herself or her daughter. When this worthy dame beheld the splendid bridal pageant, at the second marriage of the King of Hops, she sighed in bitterness of spirit, and lamented that her own Meta was not the bride upon the occasion. She thought that since her daughter had once refused an excellent match, as a punishment for her folly, no such offer would ever be made to her again. And as to Neighbour Francis, Mother Briggitta thought that if he were constant in his love, why not now reveal it? The lovely Meta herself likewise painfully felt, that his passion, were it real, ought certainly to be disclosed in words, and she was grieved to observe that he came now much less frequently to those places where he used to meet with her. She pined in melancholy meditation, on account of the apparent coldness of her lover, and in the following soliloquy she bemoaned her hapless fate: “He loved thee, and was faithful, while he had only salt and bread, and was thy equal; but now he must unite himself with one in his own station. Who knows but those ladies who neglected him in poverty, at present endeavour to attract his favour? I think I hear a friend saying to him, ‘The whole garden of beauty lies before you in your father’s city; all the mothers are