< Page:A song of the English (1909).djvu
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There's never a flood goes shoreward now
But lifts a keel we manned:
There's never an ebb goes seaward now
But drops our dead on the sand—
But slinks our dead on the sands forlore,
From the Ducies to the Swin.
If blood be the price of admiralty,
If blood be the price of admiralty,
Lord God, we ha' paid it in!
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