With us (fond fools) he never shares
20In sad perplexities and cares;
The willow near his tomb that grows
Revives his memory, not his woes;
Or rain, or shine, he is advanc'd above
Th' affronts of Heaven and stratagems of Love.
IV.
Then, mighty King of Terrors, come,
Command thy slave to his long home.
And thou, my friend, that lov'st me best,