Henry Austin Dobson (1840–1921)

Of the Spanish 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 shatter our ships on the main;

But we had bold Neptune to back us,—

And where are the galleons of Spain?

His carackes were christen’d 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?