Poor old horse, poor old horse.
You are old, you are cold, you are deaf, dull, dumb and slow,
You are not fit for anything or in my team to draw;
You have eaten all my hay, you have spoilèd all my straw;
So hang him, whip him, stick him, to the huntsman let him go.
Poor old horse, poor old horse.
My hide unto the tanners, then I would freely give
My body to the hound dogs, I would rather die than live;
Likewise my poor old bones that have carried you many a mile
Over hedges, ditches, gates and bridges, likewise gates and stiles.