complained in his times.  And where is Troy itself now, Persepolis, Carthage, Cizicum, Sparta, Argos, and all those Grecian cities?  Syracuse and Agrigentum, the fairest towns in Sicily, which had sometimes 700,000 inhabitants, are now decayed:  the names of Hieron, Empedocles, &c., of those mighty numbers of people, only left.  One Anacharsis is remembered amongst the Scythians; the world itself must have an end; and every part of it. Caeterae igitur urbes sunt mortales, as Peter [3906]Gillius concludes of Constantinople, haec sane quamdiu erunt homines, futura mihi videtur immortalis; but ’tis not so:  nor site, nor strength, nor sea nor land, can vindicate a city, but it and all must vanish at last.  And as to a traveller great mountains seem plains afar off, at last are not discerned at all; cities, men, monuments decay,—­nec solidis prodest sua machina terris, [3907]the names are only left, those at length forgotten, and are involved in perpetual night.

[3908]"Returning out of Asia, when I sailed from Aegina toward Megara, I began” (saith Servius Sulpicius, in a consolatory epistle of his to Tully) “to view the country round about.  Aegina was behind me, Megara before, Piraeus on the right hand, Corinth on the left, what flourishing towns heretofore, now prostrate and overwhelmed before mine eyes?  I began to think with myself, alas, why are we men so much disquieted with the departure of a friend, whose life is much shorter? [3909]When so many goodly cities lie buried before us.  Remember, O Servius, thou art a man; and with that I was much confirmed, and corrected myself.”  Correct then likewise, and comfort thyself in this, that we must necessarily die, and all die, that we shall rise again:  as Tully held; Jucundiorque multo congressus noster futurus, quam insuavis et acerbus digressus, our second meeting shall be much more pleasant than our departure was grievous.

Aye, but he was my most dear and loving friend, my sole friend,

[3910] “Quis deciderio sit pudor aut modus
Tam chari capitis?”------

       “And who can blame my woe?”

Thou mayst be ashamed, I say with [3911]Seneca, to confess it, “in such a [3912]tempest as this to have but one anchor,” go seek another:  and for his part thou dost him great injury to desire his longer life. [3913]"Wilt thou have him crazed and sickly still,” like a tired traveller that comes weary to his inn, begin his journey afresh, “or to be freed from his miseries; thou hast more need rejoice that he is gone.”  Another complains of a most sweet wife, a young wife, Nondum sustulerat flavum Proserpina crinem, such a wife as no mortal man ever had, so good a wife, but she is now dead and gone, laethaeoque jacet condita sarcophago.  I reply to him in Seneca’s words, if such a woman at least ever was to be had, [3914]"He did either so find or make her; if he found her, he may as happily find another;” if he made her, as Critobulus in Xenophon did by his, he