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