_Hobbinol._ Fear not; at MENALCAS' hall There are bays enough for all. He, when young as we, did graze, But when old he planted bays. _Tomalin._ Here she comes; but with a look Far more catching than my hook; 'Twas those eyes, I now dare swear, Led our lambs we knew not where. _Hobbinol._ Not our lambs' own fleeces are Curled so lovely as her hair, Nor our sheep new-washed can be Half so white or sweet as she. _Phillis._ He so looks as fit to keep Somewhat else than silly sheep. _Hobbinol._ Come, let's in some carol new Pay to love and them their due. _All._ Joy to that happy pair Whose hopes united banish our despair. What shepherd could for love pretend, Whilst all the nymphs on Damon's choice attend? What shepherdess could hope to wed Before Marina's turn were sped? Now lesser beauties may take place And meaner virtues come in play; While they Looking from high Shall grace Our flocks and us with a propitious eye." All this merriment came to an end on the 3rd of September 1658, when Oliver Cromwell died on the anniversary of Dunbar fight and of the field of Worcester. And yet the end, though it was to be sudden, did not at once seem likely to be so. There was time for the poets to tune their lyres. Waller, Dryden, Sprat, and Marvell had no doubt that "Tumbledown Dick" was to sit on the throne of his father and "still keep the sword erect," and were ready with their verses. Westminster Abbey has never witnessed a statelier, costlier funeral than that of "the late man who made himself to be called Protector," to quote words from one of the most impressive passages in English prose, the opening sentences of Cowley's _Discourse by way of Vision concerning the Government of Oliver Cromwell_. The representatives of kings, potentates, and powers crowded the aisles, and all was done that pomp and ceremony could do. Marvell, arrayed in the six yards of mourning the Council had voted him on the 7th of September, was, we may be sure, in the Abbey, and it may well be that his blind colleague, to whom the same liberal allowance had been made, leant on his arm during the service. Milton's muse remained silent. The vote of the House of Commons ordering the undoing of this great ceremony was little more than two years ahead. _O caeca mens hominum!_ Among the poems first printed by Captain Thompson from the old manuscript book was one which was written therein in Marvell's own hand entitled "A poem upon the Death of his late Highness the Protector." Its composition was evidently not long delayed:--