Crown’d with straw, and rob’d with rags,
Cover’d o’er with jags and tags,
While the keeper near at hand
Bullies those who leave their stand;
And milk-maid’s screams go through your ears,
And grinders sharpen rusty sheers,
And every crier squalls his cry
Under each window he goes by.
Straight mine eye hath caught new gambols,
While round and round this town it rambles;