But being in a merry pin,
And to describe them did begin:—
Sandgate’s the devil’s besom sure,
With which oft times he sweeps the floor;
The air’s with glasshouse smoke infected,
Confusion of all kinds collected;
Nothing but murm’ring, noise, and swearing,
Shocks your conscience, grates your hearing.
The women black, red, tawny, grey,
Who seldom go to church to pray;