9th.—10th.—& 11th.—so unaccountably disorder’d—I cannot say more—but that I w. suffer ten times more & with wishes for my Eliza—adieu bless’d Woman!—
12th. O Eliza! That my weary head was now laid upon thy Lap—(tis all that’s left for it)—or that I had thine, reclining upon my bosome, and there resting all its disquietudes;—my Bramine—the world or Yorick must perish, before that foundation shall fail thee!—I continue poorly—but I turn my Eyes Eastward the oftener, & with more earnestness for it——Great God of Mercy! shorten the Space betwixt us,—Shorten the space of our miseries!
13th. Could not get the Genl. post office to take charge of my Letters to You—so gave thirty shillings to a Merchant to further them to Aleppo & from thence to Bassorah—so you will receive ’em (I hope in god) say by Christmas—Surely ’tis not impossible, but I may be made as happy as my Eliza, by some transcript from her, by that time—If not I shall hope—& hope every week, and every hour of it, for Tidings of Comfort—we taste not of it now, my dear Bramine—but we will make full meals upon it hereafter.—Cards from 7 or 8 of our Grandies to dine with them before I leave Town—shall go like a Lamb to the Slaughter—“Man delights not me—nor Woman”
14. a little better to day—& would look pert, if my heart would but let me—dined wth. Ld. & Lady Bellasis.—so beset wth. Company—not a moment to write.
15. Undone with too much Society yesterday,—You scarse can Conceive my dear Eliza what a poor Soul I am—how I shall be got down to Cox only heaven knows—for I am as weak as a Child—You would not like me the worse for it, Eliza, if you was here—My friends like me, the more,—& Swear I shew more true fortitude & eveness of temper in my Suffering than Seneca, or Socrates—I am, my Bramin,[[26]] resigned.