Love, love me now, because I place Thee here among my righteous race: The bastard slips may droop and die Wanting both root and earth; but thy Immortal self shall boldly trust To live for ever with my Just. _With my Just_, cp. 664. 860. ON HIMSELF. If that my fate has now fulfill'd my year, And so soon stopt my longer living here; What was't, ye gods, a dying man to save, But while he met with his paternal grave! Though while we living 'bout the world do roam, We love to rest in peaceful urns at home, Where we may snug, and close together lie By the dead bones of our dear ancestry. 861. KINGS AND TYRANTS. 'Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference known: _Kings seek their subjects' good, tyrants their own_. 862. CROSSES. Our crosses are no other than the rods, And our diseases, vultures of the gods: Each grief we feel, that likewise is a kite Sent forth by them, our flesh to eat, or bite. 863. UPON LOVE. Love brought me to a silent grove And show'd me there a tree, Where some had hang'd themselves for love, And gave a twist to me. The halter was of silk and gold, That he reach'd forth unto me; No otherwise than if he would By dainty things undo me. He bade me then that necklace use; And told me, too, he maketh A glorious end by such a noose, His death for love that taketh. 'Twas but a dream; but had I been There really alone, My desp'rate fears in love had seen Mine execution. 864. NO DIFFERENCE I' TH' DARK. Night makes no difference 'twixt the priest and clerk; Joan as my lady is as good i' th' dark. 865. THE BODY. The body is the soul's poor house or home, Whose ribs the laths are, and whose flesh the loam. 866. TO SAPPHO. Thou say'st thou lov'st me, Sappho; I say no; But would to Love I could believe 'twas so! Pardon my fears, sweet Sappho; I desire That thou be righteous found, and I the liar. 867. OUT OF TIME, OUT OF TUNE. We blame, nay, we despise her pains That wets her garden when it rains: But when the drought has dried the knot, Then let her use the wat'ring-pot. We pray for showers, at our need, To drench, but not to drown our seed. _Knot_, quaintly shaped flower-bed. 868. TO HIS BOOK. Take mine advice, and go not near Those faces, sour as vinegar. For these, and nobler numbers can Ne'er please the supercilious man. 869. TO HIS HONOURED FRIEND, SIR THOMAS HEALE. Stand by the magic of my powerful rhymes 'Gainst all the indignation of the times. Age shall not wrong thee; or one jot abate Of thy both great and everlasting fate. While others perish, here's thy life decreed, Because begot of my immortal seed. 870. THE SACRIFICE, BY WAY OF DISCOURSE BETWIXT HIMSELF AND JULIA.