The lands are nigh, low, round, and flat.
There's rocks and stumps, no doubt enough,
And bogs and swamps, just quantum-suff
To breed the finest of Musquitoes;
As in the sea are bred Bonitos,
No lack of fever or of ague;
And many other things to plague you.
In short, they're just like other people's,
Sans houses, pigsties, barns, or steeples
What most it imports you to know,