how I have wished for you! Here
do I sit all night by a poor moped fellow that serves my father, and
have much ado to keep him awake and myself too. If you heard the wise
discourse that is between us, you would swear we wanted sleep; but I
shall leave him to-night to entertain himself, and try if I can write as
wisely as I talk. I am glad all is well again. In earnest, it would have
lain upon my conscience if I had been the occasion of making your poor
boy lose a service, that if he has the wit to know how to value it, he
would never have forgiven me while he had lived.

But while I remember it, let me ask you if you did not send my letter
and _Cleopatre_ where I directed you for my lady? I received one from
her to-day full of the kindest reproaches, that she has not heard from
me this three weeks. I have writ constantly to her, but I do not so much
wonder that the rest are lost, as that she seems not to have received
that which I sent to you nor the books. I do not understand it, but I
know there is no fault of yours in't. But, mark you! if you think to
'scape with sending me such bits of letters, you are mistaken. You say
you are often interrupted, and I believe it; but you must use then to
begin to write before you receive mine, and whensoever you have any
spare time allow me some of it. Can you doubt that anything can make
your letters cheap? In earnest, 'twas unkindly said, and if I could be
angry with you it should be for that. No, certainly they are, and ever
will be, dear to me as that which I receive a huge contentment by. How
shall I long when you are gone your journey to hear from you! how shall
I apprehend a thousand accidents that are not likely nor will ever
happen, I hope! Oh, if you do not send me long letters, then you are the
cruellest person that can be! If you love me you will; and if you do
not, I shall never love myself. You need not fear such a command as you
mention. Alas! I am too much concerned that you should love me ever to
forbid it you; 'tis all that I propose of happiness to myself in the
world. The burning of my paper has waked me; all this while I was in a
dream. But 'tis no matter, I am content you should know they are of you,
and that when my thoughts are left most at liberty they are the kindest.
I swear my eyes are so heavy that I hardly see what I write, nor do I
think you will be able to read it when I have done; the best on't is
'twill be no great loss to you if you do not, for, s