Down the Boozer

I gain'd the Barr by several Essays,
Where Mourning Widow sat with doleful Face...
I turn'd to the Left, and did amongst them squeeze,
There heard some Belch, some Fart, and others Sneeze,
Buzzing and Humming like a Hive of Bees.
This Room I did for ease and cleanness chuse,
The Chappel call'd, from having Seats like Pews,
Where grizzled Sots sit Nodding oe'r the News...
One Gapes, a Second Nods, a Third he Winks,
A fourth he Smoaks, a Fifth blows Pipe and Drinks,
Not one in Ten that either Talks or Thinks,
Thus seldom speak, unless 'tis to complain
Of Phthisick, Stone, the Gout, or some old Pain,
That grieves them sorely, when the Moon's i'th'Wane.

Ned Ward
Sot's Paradise or The Humours of a Derby Ale-House (1700)