| Shine, shine, the light of good works shine |
| The watch before the city gates depicted in their prime |
| That golden light all grimy now |
| Three hundred years have passed |
| The worthy captain and his squad of troopers standing fast |
| The artist knew their faces well |
| The husbands of his lady friends |
| His creditors and councillors |
| In armour bright, the merchant men |
| Official moments of the guild |
| In poses keen from bygone days |
| The city fathers frozen there |
| Upon the canvas dark with age |
| The smell of paint, a flask of wine |
| And turn those faces all to me |
| The blunderbuss and halberd-shaft |
| And dutch respectability |
| They make their entrance one by one |
| Defenders of that way of life |
| The redbrick home, the bourgeoisie |
| Guitar lessons for the wife |