although it breedes my strife,
If I were now a Batchelor,
I'de never have a Wife.
Sometime I goe i' th' morning
about my dayly worke,
My wife she will be snorting,
and in her bed she'le lurke;
Untill the Chimes doe goe at Eight,
then she'le begin to wake,
Her mornings draught well spiced straight,