How he worships sattin, with what a Gospel-fear
He admires the man that doth a bever wear,
Room, room, bear leave, he cries, then not unwilling
With a Pater noster face receives the shilling.
But what was more religious than to see
The women in their strains of piety,
Who like the Seraphins in various hews
Adorn’d the Chancell and the highest pews.
But now good middle-Ile-folks all give room,
Hey-day!