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The King's Highway

When moonlight flecks the cruiser's decksAnd engines rumble slow,When Drake's own star is bright aboveAnd Time has gone below,They may hear who list the far-off soundOf a long-dead never-dead mirth,In the mid watch still they may hear who willThe Song of the Larboard Berth.
In a dandy frigate or a well-found brig,In a sloop or a seventy-four,In a great Firstrate with an Admiral's flagAnd a hundred guns or more,In a fair light air, in a dead foul wind,At midnight or midday,Till the good ship sink her mids shall drinkTo the King and the King's Highway!
The mids they hear—no fear, no fear!They know their own ship's ghost:Their young blood beats to the same old songAnd roars to the same old toast.

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