Fye Nell, this news is worse and worse,
and doth increase my trouble,
That I must now unstring my purse,
doth make my sorrow double:
From hence I thought for to convey
what in this land I gained,
But I am here confin'd to stay,
and now my credits stain'd.
Pish, lightly come, and lightly go,
ne'er let this matter grieve thee,