They croud, they thrust, are crouded, and are thrusted,
Their pews seem pasties, wherein they incrusted,
Together bake and frie; O patience great!
Yet they endure, though almost drown’d in sweat,
Whose steaming vapours prove most singular
To stew hard doctrines in, and to prepare
Them, lest they should breed some ugly disease
Being tak’n raw in queasie consciences.
But further mark their great humility,
Their tender love and mutual charity,