He turned once more for the shelter good
Of the Wan Tun Waste and the dark yew wood,
The deep yew fastness of Cowall Itchen
And the scuts and heads of hens in his kitchen.
The hounds grew weak and The Mail was blowing;
Rother said, "Alf, this is bad going!"
Past Pemberton Billing, past Kenworthy,
He shook them off, he was damp and earthy;
By Molton Lambert and Platting Clynes——
But I can't go on with these difficult lines.