To the same. LETTER VIII.
I Thought there had not been any but your self could have caused me ill nights, but I yesterday met a Ladie, who hath made me spend this last without the least admission of sleep, and wounded me so deeplie in the heart, that I have not known any rest since I saw her. Without any design, as I conceive, to mut∣ther me, she told me that you were to depart to morrow, and that she had had this newes from your own mouth. If it be so, I think I have some reason to quarrell with you, (having robbed me of halfe my life) that, without any desert of mine, you make my daies shorter then they should be. You will haplie think it strange, that a man so unfortunate as I am should complain that he is not suffered to live long enough, and think my self injured that I am too soon delivered out of my miserie. But I see that even the most miserable are in love with life; and since I cannot lose mine but by a separation from you, I think it is onlie the manner of dying that startles me, and that I am to be excused, if I am afraid of so cruell a one. This consideration hath not permitted me to close my eyes since yesterday, and if this day prove so long as the night last past, I am to fear your absence as a misfortune which cannot happen till after a hundred years. But such an unhappie accident ought to be foreseen even at that distance; nay though it wece not to come to passe till the end of the world, I should begin to fear it from this minute. However, be pleased to let me know what I am to expect, and since it is all the kindnesse you can do me, let me know the day