Epistolæ Ho-elianæ familiar letters domestic and forren divided into sundry sections, partly historicall, politicall, philosophicall, vpon emergent occasions / by James Howell.

LXXV. To Mr. R. K.

Dear Sir,

YOu and I are upon a journy, though bound for severall places, I for Hamborough, you for your last home, as I un∣derstand by Doctor Baskervill, who tells me much to my grief, that this hectieall disease will not suffer you to be long among us: I know by som experiments which I have had of you, you have such a noble soul within you, that will not be daunted by those natu∣rall apprehensions which death doth usually carry along with it a∣mong vulgar spirits: I do not think that you fear death as much now (though it be to som) 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, as you did to go in∣to the dark when you wer a child; you have had a fair time to pre∣pare your self, God give you a boon voyage to the haven you are bound for (which I doubt not will be heaven) and me the grace to follow, when I have pass'd the boysterous sea, and swelling billows of this tumultuary life, wherin I have already shot divers dangerous gulfs, pass'd o're som quick sands, rocks, and sundry ill favor'd reaches, while others sail in the sleeve of fortune; you and I have eaten a great deal of salt together, and spent much oyl in the communication of our studies by literall correspondence and otherwise both in verse and prose, therfore I will take my last leave of you now in these few stanza's.

1.

Weak crazy Mortall, why dost fear To leave this earthly Hemisphear? Where all delights away do pass, Like thy effigies in a glass; Each thing beneath the Moon is frayle and sickle, Death sweeps away what time cuts with his sickle,

2.

This life, at best, is but an Inn, And we the passengers, wherin The cloth is layed to som, before They peep out of dame nature's dore, And warm lodgings left, Others ther are Must trudg to find a room, and shift for fare?

3.

This life's, at longest, but one day, He who in youth posts hence away, Leave's us i'•…•…h Morn, He who hath run His race till Manhood, part's al noon, And who at seventy odd forsakes this light, He may be said to take his leave at night.

4.

One past makes up the Prince and peasan, Though one eat roots, the other seasan, They nothing differ in the stuff, But both extinguish like a snuff; Why then fond man should thy soul take dismay, To sally out of these gross walls of clay?

And now my dear frend adieu, and live eternally in that world o•…•… endles bliss wher you shall have knowledg as well as all things els commensurat to your desires; wher you shall cleerly see the re∣all causes, and perfect truth of what we argue with that incerti∣tude, and beat our brains about heer below, yet though you be gon hence, you shall never die in the memory of

Westmi. 15 Aug. 1630.

Your

J. H.