To set the cause above renown

Drake, he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come, (Captain, art tha sleepin' there below?) Slung atween the roundshot, list'ning for the drum, And dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.

And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat, Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote -- 'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

The work of the world must still be done, And minds are many though truth be one.

Princes of courtesy, merciful, proud and strong.

Song like a rose should be; Each rhyme a petal sweet; For fragrance, melody, That when her lips repeat The words, her heart may know What secret makes them so:—

And also there’s a little star So white a virgin’s it must be:— Perhaps the lamp my love in heaven Hangs out to light the way for me.