Never such a merry day,
For the northern shepherd's son
Has MENALCAS' daughter won.

_Phillis._ Stay till I some flowers have tied
In a garland for the bride.

_Tomalin._ If thou would'st a garland bring,
PHILLIS, you may wait the spring:
They have chosen such an hour
When she is the only flower.

_Phillis._ Let's not then, at least, be seen
Without each a sprig of green.

_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 q