No, no, bonnie steed, I will not part with you.
But when thou art old and thy usefulness o'er,
In a nice, cozy attic thy frame I will store,
And every day, be it sunshine or rain,
I'll steal to thy side and in fancy again
We'll skim the green meadows, my steed, you and I,
'Mong the flowers that grow 'neath the soft, tender sky.
Then come, let us bask in the dewy delight
Of the country—hi! ho! we are soon out of sight.
Though a bit out of style, just the same is thy speed.