death, as a horse at a rotten post.  Say what you can of that other world, [3865]Montezuma that Indian prince, Bonum est esse hic, they had rather be here.  Nay many generous spirits, and grave staid men otherwise, are so tender in this, that at the loss of a dear friend they will cry out, roar, and tear their hair, lamenting some months after, howling “O Hone,” as those Irish women and [3866]Greeks at their graves, commit many indecent actions, and almost go beside themselves.  My dear father, my sweet husband, mine only brother’s dead, to whom shall I make my moan? O me miserum!  Quis dabit in lachrymas fontem, &c.  What shall I do?

[3867] “Sed totum hoc studium luctu fraterna mihi mors
        Abstulit, hei misero frater adempte mihi?”

       “My brother’s death my study hath undone,
        Woe’s me, alas my brother he is gone.”

Mezentius would not live after his son: 

[3868] “Nunc vivo, nec adhuc homines lucemque relinquo,
Sed linquam”------

And Pompey’s wife cried out at the news of her husband’s death,

[3869] “Turpe mori post te solo non posse dolore,
        Violenta luctu et nescia tolerandi,”

as [3870]Tacitus of Agrippina, not able to moderate her passions.  So when she heard her son was slain, she abruptly broke off her work, changed countenance and colour, tore her hair, and fell a roaring downright.

[3871]  ------“subitus miserae color ossa reliquit,
Excussi manibus radii, revolutaque pensa: 
Evolat infelix et foemineo ululatu
Scissa comam”------

Another would needs run upon the sword’s point after Euryalus’ departure,

[3872] “Figite me, si qua est pietas, in me omnia tela
Conjicite o Rutili;”------

O let me die, some good man or other make an end of me.  How did Achilles take on for Patroclus’ departure?  A black cloud of sorrows overshadowed him, saith Homer.  Jacob rent his clothes, put sackcloth about his loins, sorrowed for his son a long season, and could not be comforted, but would needs go down into the grave unto his son, Gen. xxxvii. 37.  Many years after, the remembrance of such friends, of such accidents, is most grievous unto us, to see or hear of it, though it concern not ourselves but others.  Scaliger saith of himself, that he never read Socrates’ death, in Plato’s Phaedon, but he wept:  [3873]Austin shed tears when he read the destruction of Troy.  But howsoever this passion of sorrow be violent, bitter, and seizeth familiarly on wise, valiant, discreet men, yet it may surely be withstood, it may be diverted.  For what is there in this life, that it should be so dear unto us? or that we should so much deplore the departure of a friend?  The greatest pleasures are common society, to enjoy one another’s presence, feasting, hawking, hunting, brooks, woods, hills, music, dancing, &c. all this is but vanity and loss of time, as I have sufficiently declared.

[3874]  ------“dum bibimus, dum serta, unguenta, puellas
Poscimus, obrepit non intellecta senectus.”

       “Whilst we drink, prank ourselves, with wenches dally,
        Old age upon’s at unawares doth sally.”