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?
Dobson.
CXXII
THE WHITE PACHA
VAIN is the dream ! However Hope may rave, He perished with the folk he could not save, And though none surely told us he is dead, And though perchance another in his stead, Another, not less brave, when all was done, Had fled unto the southward and the sun, Had urged a way by force, or won by guile To streams remotest of the secret Nile,
�� �
