We shall go on to the end,
We shall sail to France,
we shall beat into wind in the seas and oceans,
we shall anchor with growing confidence,
and with growing length of our hair,
we shall suspend our Round-The-Island race, whatever the new handicaps may be,
we shall dry out on the beaches,
we shall alight on the landing grounds,
we shall barbecue in the fields and eat in Spoons in the streets,
our ramblers shall climb the hills;
we shall never need deep water, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this association or a large part of it were subjugated by fin and bilge keelers, then our members beyond the British Seals, armed with their lift-keels, would carry on the struggle, until, in the Commodore’s good time, the post-virus world, with all its uncertainty and ‘might’, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the sailors that form the association.
Here's the original
We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.