None of all its precipices
Cause a quarther of the carnage of the nose of Fan.
But your shatthered hearts suppose,
Safely steered apast her nose,
She’s a current and a reef beyand to wreck them roving ships.
My meaning it is simple,
For that current is her dimple,
And the cruel reef ’twill coax ye to’s her coral lips.
I might inform ye further
Of her bosom’s snowy murther,