Drake's Drum
DRAKE
he's in his hammock an' a thousand mile away,
(Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)
Slung
atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay,
An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.
Yarnder
lumes the island, yarnder lie the ships,
Wi' sailor lads a-dancin' heel-an'-toe,
An'
the shore-lights flashin', an' the night-tide dashin'
He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago.
Drake
he was a Devon man, an' ruled the Devon seas,
(Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?),
Rovin'
tho' his death fell, he went wi' heart at ease,
An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe,
"Take
my drum to England, hang et by the shore,
Strike et when your powder's runnin' low;
If
the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven,
An' drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago."
Drake
he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come,
(Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?),
Slung
atween the round shot, listenin' for the drum,
An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.
Call
him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound,
Call him when ye sail to meet the foe;
Where
the old trade's plyin' an' the old flag flyin',
They shall find him, ware an' wakin', as they found him long ago.
Henry Newbolt.
