That country house of mine—a pleasure house
Some call it, though I’ve found but little there—
Stands in a narrow mountain gorge, through which
He and the bloodhounds after him must pass
To reach the river; as he says, he came,
And saw, and fled; had scarce got fifty yards,
Up comes the Sheriff with his yelling pack
Panting and blowing. First most courteously
I begg’d them spare themselves as well as him
Further pursuit, but all in vain; push on