Poor old horse, poor old horse.
Once I was kept in the stable snug and warm,
To keep my tender limbs from any cold or harm;
But now, in open fields, I am forcèd for to go,
In all sorts of weather, let it be hail, rain, freeze or snow,
Poor old horse, poor old horse.
Once I was fed on the very best corn and hay
That ever grew in yon fields, or in yon meadows gay;
But now there’s no such doing can I find at all;
I’m glad to pick the green sprouts that grow behind yon wall.