And cried, “It’s a lie, I tell you!—who dares to say its true?”
Then seizing his holster pistols, he mounted his fleetest mare
And made straight for the Red Cliff roadway—he guessed they had gone by there,
For that was the way to London, from Exmouth the pair would post,
And the road they were bound to travel was the road by the rugged coast.
If you look you will see it passes right over the headland’s brow—
Only a century distant it wasn’t as good as now.
He dug his spurs in the hunter, and it flew up the fearful steep,
’Twas a wild, fierce night in winter, and the snow lay thick and deep;
But the moon through the clouds had broken, and right on the Head he spied