Passage Of Sir Drake, Part (2) Poem by Captain Cur

England! This spot of earth we call our home,
we bid farewell in departure's saddened tone
leaving those we love, those we warmly held,
driven from a landlocked world by the ocean's spell,
and turning look upon the broad expanse,
our faces lit as we sail the waves of chance;
challenging fell skies, the water's might,
bandit suns, gypsy moons and stars that rule the night,
supplanting pleasure with the harsh unknown,
beautiful and savage, ringed with shores of gold.

Before Drake's fated trip sailing round the earth,
ambition ruled his eye with charts of favored birth;
raised and schooled in Elizabethan speech
an aspiring Queen's ear fell within his reach,
funding his project, promising great wealth,
sneaking up on Spanish ships with old English stealth.
Drake was born in the hills of Devonshire
blessed with that rugged look stately courts admire;
charming, well spoken, admirably self-assured,
groomed with impeccable taste, fashionably cured!
Oh! the ladies! how they dressed the royal hall,
frequenting a sly glance when dancing at the ball.

He enjoyed special favor with the seated Queen,
his feats regarded well and held in high esteem;
making his fortune as a privateer,
commanding with patience and leading without fear.
Queen Elizabeth the First knew her role,
under her glorious reign the golden age glowed;
her face painted white, England's virgin bride,
loved by the populace with unmitigated pride.
Her sister's death opened the royal door,
the last of five monarchs of the House of Tudor.
In youthfulness crowned with god given rights,
deafened by sounds of organs, drums, trumpets and fifes.