So, Lord, what need were Heaven, Hell or quest?
No! I must follow winter! She will be
Doubtless betrayed and hurt—and I not there
To comfort her in any measure—well
Pray God some ax beat through my warding soon!—
I beg your grace, sir Knight—my dreams—you said?—
“I heard the quarrel and loud noise of hounds
More to the westward, by a little inn
That’s badged with a dry bush.”
“I must ride on!