Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse,
Full angrily men harken to thy plaint;
Thou gettest many a brush and many a curse,
For saying thou art gaunt and starved and faint.
Even the old beggar, while he asks for food,
Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could.
I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween,
Has not the honor of so proud a birth—
Thou com’st from Jersey meadows, fresh and green,
The offspring of the gods, though born on earth;