XCIX
BALLAD OF THE ARMADA King Philip had vaunted his claims;
He had sworn for a year he would sack us;
With an army of heathenish names
He 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 dames
To the kirtles whereof he would tack us;
With his saints and his gilded stern-frames
He 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. James
The axe that he whetted to hack us;
He must play at some lustier games
Or at sea he can hope to out-thwack us;
To his mines of Peru he would pack us
To 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 us
Whenever his stomach be fain;
He must reach us before he can rack us, ...
And where are the galleons of Spain?
Austin Dobson.
C
RANK AND FILE O undistinguished Dead!
Whom the bent covers, or the rock-strewn steep
Shows 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.
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