To the same. LETTER XII.
SInce you have forsaken us, a minute hath not past which hath hot added something to my afflictions, and J have not overcome an houre, which J thought not should be that of my death. But now J perceive, that my soul is so overpressed with grief, that it hath not the strength to get away; and that if she remain yet in my bodie, it is like the lazie birds in the Indies, whereof you heard so me discourse, as J take it about a hundred years since, who cannot be gotten to quit the Tree which can∣not afford them any further nourishment, and had rather dy lan∣guishing, then take the pains to chang place. J assure you J ag∣gravate not this storie in any thing; and that great mind, where∣by you imagine all things with so much ease cannot assist you in the comprehension of half my afflictions. J spend whole daies without ever opening mine eyes, and the best part of the night without ever putting them together. And what you will won∣der at much more, is, that these restlesse houres of impatience and despaire, and those nights which the fear of having displea∣sed you made me sit up with many mortall disturbances, J now grieve for as lost joyes, and the enjoyments of my life past. This indeed is punishment proportionable to the greatest ex∣travagance that ever was known; these are the torments I am destined to suffer for too near an acquaintance with you. But amidst all these afflictions, though J see it must necessarilie cost me my life, and that all the indulgences of Heaven and Fortune are too weak to deliver me of them, yet can J not be perswaded, though not imagine how, but that it is in your power to make me die happie, and that what all the world besides can∣not do, you only can.