and look after them as a cow lows after her calf, or a child takes on that goes to school after holidays. Ut me levarat tuus adventus, sic discessus afflixit, (which [2314]Tully writ to Atticus) thy coming was not so welcome to me, as thy departure was harsh.  Montanus, consil. 132. makes mention of a country woman that parting with her friends and native place, became grievously melancholy for many years; and Trallianus of another, so caused for the absence of her husband:  which is an ordinary passion amongst our good wives, if their husband tarry out a day longer than his appointed time, or break his hour, they take on presently with sighs and tears, he is either robbed, or dead, some mischance or other is surely befallen him, they cannot eat, drink, sleep, or be quiet in mind, till they see him again.  If parting of friends, absence alone can work such violent effects, what shall death do, when they must eternally be separated, never in this world to meet again?  This is so grievous a torment for the time, that it takes away their appetite, desire of life, extinguisheth all delights, it causeth deep sighs and groans, tears, exclamations,

        (O dulce germen matris, o sanguis meus,
        Eheu tepentes, &c.—­o flos tener.)[2315]

howling, roaring, many bitter pangs, [2316]_lamentis gemituque et faemineo ululatu Tecta fremunt_) and by frequent meditation extends so far sometimes, [2317]"they think they see their dead friends continually in their eyes,” observantes imagines, as Conciliator confesseth he saw his mother’s ghost presenting herself still before him. Quod nimis miseri volunt, hoc facile credunt, still, still, still, that good father, that good son, that good wife, that dear friend runs in their minds:  Totus animus hac una cogitatione defixus est, all the year long, as [2318]Pliny complains to Romanus, “methinks I see Virginius, I hear Virginius, I talk with Virginius,” &c.

[2319] “Te sine, vae misero mihi, lilia nigra videntur,
        Pallentesque rosae, nec dulce rubens hyacinthus,
        Nullos nec myrtus, noc laurus spirat odores.”

They that are most staid and patient, are so furiously carried headlong by the passion of sorrow in this case, that brave discreet men otherwise, oftentimes forget themselves, and weep like children many months together, [2320]_as if that they to water would_, and will not be comforted.  They are gone, they are gone; what shall I do?

       “Abstulit atra dies et funere mersit acerbo,
        Quis dabit in lachrymas fontem mihi? quis satis altos
        Accendet gemitus, et acerbo verba dolori? 
        Exhaurit pietas oculos, et hiantia frangit
        Pectora, nec plenos avido sinit edere questus,
        Magna adeo jactura premit,” &c.

       “Fountains of tears who gives, who lends me groans,
        Deep sighs sufficient to express my moans? 
        Mine eyes are dry, my breast in pieces torn,
        My loss so great, I cannot enough mourn.”