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



So many years we suffered here

Our country racked with spanish wars

Now comes a chance to find ourselves

And quiet reigns behind our doors

We think about posterity again



And so the pride of little men

The burghers good and true

Still living through the painters hand

Request you all to understand