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