What Hap Had I to Marry a Shrow!

For she hath given me many a blow, And how to please her, alack! I do not know.

From morn to even her tongue ne’er lies; Sometimes she brawls, sometimes she cries; Yet I can scarce keep her talents from mine eyes.

If I go abroad and late come in, “Sir Knave,” saith she, “where have you been?” And do I well or ill, she claps me on the skin.