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