A flimsy shift on a bunker cot, With a thin dirk-slot through the bosom spot And the lace stiff-dry in a purplish blot. Or was she wench... Or some shuddering maid...? That dared the knife And that took the blade! By God! she was stuff for a plucky jade— Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
— YOUNG E. ALLISON