FOR my first twenty years, since yesterday,I scarce believed thou couldst be gone away ; For forty more I fed on favours past, And forty on hopes that thou wouldst they might last ; Tears drown'd one hundred, and sighs blew out two ;A thousand, I did neither think nor do, Or not divide, all being one thought of you ;Or in a thousand more, forgot that too.Yet call not this long life ; but think that IAm, by being dead, immortal ; can ghosts die ?