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With all the heart of Drake, Before his sails were furled He dared our flag to take
Right round the trackless world; The Dons', the tempests' wrath
Might in his sea-road roar; Through all, he fought his path, Did our fighting Commodore, Our brave old Commodore, Our dauntless Commodore, Who plunder found The whole world round, Like a fine old Commodore.
How London's bells rang out,
As through her thronged ways rolled, Through one long thundering shout,
Spain's galleon's captured gold ! Again his fame they clashed
For treasure won once more; This time the French he'd thrashed, Our fighting Commodore,
Our brave old Commodore, Our dauntless Commodore, At Spithead, lay Ten sail that day Won by our Commodore.