Come merry home, John.
Patient Grissel.
The Bachelor.
“Hough! For the Bachelor! Merry doth he live,
All the day long he can daunce sing and playe:
His troubles are like to water in a sieve,
The more it floweth in, the more it will away:
This is the verie truth I doe declare and saye.
Maryed men for him may sit, sighe, and grone,
He is well content and letteth well alone.”