The same as she's been before.
Their bones are strewed to every tide from Torres Strait to Tyne—
God's truth, they've paid their blooming dues to the tin-fish and the mine,
By storm or calm, by night or day, from Longships light to Line.
With a bomb or a mine or a bursting shell,
And she'll follow the seas no more,
She's fetched and carried and served you well,
The same as she's done before—
They've fetched and carried and gone their way,