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Sir Henry Newbolt - Drake`s Drum
Work rating: Medium

Drake he`s in his hammock an` a thousand miles 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-dancing` 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?) 
Roving` tho` his death fell, he went wi` heart at ease, 
A` 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 drumm`d 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!
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