Life.
What is’t we live for? tell life’s finest tale—
To eat, to drink, to sleep, love, and enjoy,
And then to love no more!
To talk of things we know not, and to know
Nothing but things not worth the talking of.
Sir R. Fane, jun.
36.
Brother, supposed dead, received by a Sister: she shews him a letter, disclosing an unworthy action done by him; at which he standing abashed, she then first congratulates him:
—— now I meet your love. Pardon me, my brother; I was to rejoyce at this your sadness, before I could share with you in another joy. H. Killigrew.
37.
Person just dead.
’Twas but just now he went away;
I have not yet had time to shed a tear;
And yet the distance does the same appear,
As if he had been a thousand years from me.
Time takes no measure in eternity.