Part 2 — No 77 POOR OLD HORSE

1 O once I lay in stable, a hunter, well and warm, I had the best of shelter, from cold and rain and harm; But now in open meadow, a hedge I'm glad to find, To shield my sides from tempest, from driving sleet and wind. Poor old horse, let him die! 2 My shoulders once were sturdy, were glossy, smooth and round, But now, alas! they're rotten, I'm not accounted sound. As I have grown so aged, my teeth gone to decay, My master frowns upon me; I often hear him say, Poor old horse, let him die! 3[23] A groom upon me waited, on straw I snugly lay, When fields were full of flowers, the air was sweet with hay; But now there's no good feeding prepared for me at all, I'm forced to munch the nettles upon the kennel wall. Poor old horse, let him die! 4 My shoes and skin, the huntsman, that covets them shall have, My flesh and bones the hounds, Sir! I very freely give, I've followed them full often, aye! many a score of miles, O'er hedges, walls and ditches, nor blinked at gates and stiles. Poor old horse, let him die! 5 Ye gentlemen of England, ye sportsmen good and bold, All you that love a hunter, remember him when old, O put him in your stable, and make the old boy warm, And visit him and pat him, and keep him out of harm, Poor old horse, till he die!