Good God! how often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? in every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.

The saint sustain'd it, but the woman died.

Of Manners gentle, of Affections mild; In Wit, a Man; Simplicity, a Child.

Let me tell you I am better acquainted with you for a long Absence, as men are with themselves for a long affliction: Absence does but hold off a friend, to ma…