DOBSON
King Philip had vaunted his claims;He had sworn for a year he would sack us;With an army of heathenish namesHe was coming to fagot and stack us;Like the thieves of the sea he would track us,And scatter our ships on the main;But we had bold Neptune to back us—And where are the galleons of Spain?His carackes were christened of damesTo the kirtles whereof he would tack us;With his saints and his gilded stern-framesHe had thought like an egg-shell to crack us;Now Howard may get to his Flaccus,And Drake to his Devon again,And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus—For where are the galleons of Spain?Let his Majesty hang to St. JamesThe axe that he whetted to hack us;He must play at some lustier gamesOr at sea he can hope to out-thwack us;To his mines of Peru he would pack usTo tug at his bullet and chain;Alas! that his Greatness should lack us!—But where are the galleons of Spain?EnvoyGloriana!—the Don may attack usWhenever his stomach be fain;He must reach us before he can rack us, ...And where are the galleons of Spain?Austin Dobson.
King Philip had vaunted his claims;He had sworn for a year he would sack us;With an army of heathenish namesHe was coming to fagot and stack us;Like the thieves of the sea he would track us,And scatter our ships on the main;But we had bold Neptune to back us—And where are the galleons of Spain?His carackes were christened of damesTo the kirtles whereof he would tack us;With his saints and his gilded stern-framesHe had thought like an egg-shell to crack us;Now Howard may get to his Flaccus,And Drake to his Devon again,And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus—For where are the galleons of Spain?Let his Majesty hang to St. JamesThe axe that he whetted to hack us;He must play at some lustier gamesOr at sea he can hope to out-thwack us;To his mines of Peru he would pack usTo tug at his bullet and chain;Alas! that his Greatness should lack us!—But where are the galleons of Spain?EnvoyGloriana!—the Don may attack usWhenever his stomach be fain;He must reach us before he can rack us, ...And where are the galleons of Spain?Austin Dobson.
King Philip had vaunted his claims;He had sworn for a year he would sack us;With an army of heathenish namesHe was coming to fagot and stack us;Like the thieves of the sea he would track us,And scatter our ships on the main;But we had bold Neptune to back us—And where are the galleons of Spain?
His carackes were christened of damesTo the kirtles whereof he would tack us;With his saints and his gilded stern-framesHe had thought like an egg-shell to crack us;Now Howard may get to his Flaccus,And Drake to his Devon again,And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus—For where are the galleons of Spain?
Let his Majesty hang to St. JamesThe axe that he whetted to hack us;He must play at some lustier gamesOr at sea he can hope to out-thwack us;To his mines of Peru he would pack usTo tug at his bullet and chain;Alas! that his Greatness should lack us!—But where are the galleons of Spain?
Envoy
Gloriana!—the Don may attack usWhenever his stomach be fain;He must reach us before he can rack us, ...And where are the galleons of Spain?
Austin Dobson.
O undistinguished Dead!Whom the bent covers, or the rock-strewn steepShows to the stars, for you I mourn—I weep,O undistinguished Dead!None knows your name.Blackened and blurred in the wild battle’s brunt,Hotly you fell ... with all your wounds in front:—This is your fame!Austin Dobson.
O undistinguished Dead!Whom the bent covers, or the rock-strewn steepShows to the stars, for you I mourn—I weep,O undistinguished Dead!None knows your name.Blackened and blurred in the wild battle’s brunt,Hotly you fell ... with all your wounds in front:—This is your fame!Austin Dobson.
O undistinguished Dead!Whom the bent covers, or the rock-strewn steepShows to the stars, for you I mourn—I weep,O undistinguished Dead!
None knows your name.Blackened and blurred in the wild battle’s brunt,Hotly you fell ... with all your wounds in front:—This is your fame!
Austin Dobson.