With Hops—I trust—replete.
Henceforth thou art estranged from me;
And dost thou ask me why?
Thou wilt not suit my low degree,
Since thou hast got so high.
It was not wise to raise thee so,
'Tis what thou wilt not bear:
Better, hadst thou been brought more low,
And made "not Pale but Fair."
Go, travel o'er the Ocean brine,