OVER PASTURE, PLOUGH AND FELL.
When the rain clouds o’erhead hover,
And the hounds are in the covert,
And the fox has broken eastwards,
Can’t you hear the first whip yell?
That’s the time for joy and mirth, sir,
Cramming hat and tightening girth, sir,
And it’s I’m for dashing eastward
Over pasture, plough and fell.
Finest run I ever knew, sir,