For well his Worship knows that Ale-house sins
Maintain himself in gloves, his wife in pins.
There sits the Major, as fat as any bacon
With eating custard, beef, and rumps of capon;
And there his corpulent Brethren sit by,
With faces representing gravity,
Who having money, though they have no wit,
They weare gold-chains, and here in green pews sit.
There sit True-blew the honest Parish-masters,
With Sattin Caps, and Ruffs, and Demi-casters,