FOSTER-MOTHER.
I never saw the man whom you describe.
MARIA.
Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly
As mine and Alberts common Foster-mother.
FOSTER-MOTHER.
Now blessings on the man, whoeer he be,
That joined your names with mine! O my sweet lady,
As often as I think of those dear times
When you two little ones would stand at eve
On each side of my chair, and make me learn
All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk
In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you--
Tis more like heaven to come than what _has_ been.
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