I lately
Have suffered for want of money greatly;
Have the goodness, then, to send without fail,
A trifle or two by return of mail.
I want about twenty or thirty ducats;
For I have not at present a cent in my pockets;
Things are so tight with us this way,
Send me the money at once, I pray.
And everything is growing higher,
Lodging and washing, and lights and fire,