4.My shoulders were both fat, fine, smooth & round,
But now corrupted, rotten & unsound.
And my hollow hoof that was both smooth & hard,
Now by the blacksmith is most badly scarred
Oh! Ball. Oh!
5.He is old, he is both dull & slow
He eats my hay, and he spoils my straw,
For neither is he fit in my cart to draw,
Whip him, skin him & let him a hunting go.
Oh! Ball. Oh!
6.My skin unto the huntsmen I bequeath,
And my flesh unto the hounds I freely give.
My body swift that has run so many miles,
It was over hedges, ditches, likewise gates & stiles,
Oh! Ball. Oh!
“Lamentation of an old Horse”, Broadside by E. Hodges, Seven Dials.
C.
1.When I was a young horse all in my youthful pride(prime?) sic
My master used to ride on me, he thought me very fine
But now I am grown old, & nature does decay,
My master frowns upon me, & these words I heard him say,
Poor old horse! poor old horse!
2.My clothing that was once of the shining superfine,
Then I stood in my stable, & did in my glory shine,
But now I am grown old, & nature does decay,
My master frowns upon me, & these words I heard him say,
Poor old horse! poor old horse!
3.My feeding it was once of the best corn & hay
That grew in the fields and in the meadows gay,
But now I am grown old, & scarcely can I crawl,
I am forced to eat the coarsest grass that grows against the wall
Poor old horse! poor old horse!
4.He is old, & he is cold, & he is both dull & slow,
He has eat up all my hay, & has spoiled all my straw,
Nor either is he fit to draw with my team,
Take him, & whip him, is now my master’s theme,
Poor old horse! poor old horse!
5.To the huntsman now shall go his old hide & shoes
Likewise his tender carcass the hounds will not refuse,
His body that so swiftly has run so many miles,
Over hedges, ditches, brooks, & cleared bridges, gates & stiles,
Poor old horse! poor old horse!
“The Poor old Horse” Broadside by Such, No. 42.
D.
Another & fuller version in Bell’s “Songs & Ballads of the Peasantry” p. 184.
E.
Breton song “Testamant ar Gazee coz” Luzel, Chansons de la Basse Bretagne 1890, II. p.89.
F.
1.This is my poor old horse, that has carried me many a mile,
Over hedges, over ditches, over barred gate & stile;
But now he has grown old and his nature does decay,
He’s forced to snap at the shortest grass that grows along the way,
Poor old horse! Poor old horse!
2.His coat it once was of linsey-wolsey fine
His mane it grew at length, & his body it did shine,
His pretty little shoulders that were so plump & round,
They’re both worn out & aged; I’m afraid he is not sound,
Poor old horse! Poor old horse!
3.His keep it was once of the best of corn & hay,
That ever grew in cornfields, or in the meadows gay.
But now into the open fields he is obliged to go,
To stand all sorts of weathers, either rain or frost or snow,
Poor old horse! Poor old horse!
4.His hide unto the tanner I will so freely give,
His body to the dogs; I would rather him die than live;
So we’ll hang him, whip him, strip him, and a hunting let him go;
He’s neither fit to ride upon, or in a team to draw
Poor old horse! Poor old horse!
“It is an old Christmas custom in Nottinghamshire & Derbyshire to go from house to house with the skull of a horse, painted black & red, and supported on a wooden foreleg. A man in a stooping posture & covered with a cloth, represents the body of the horse, &, from the inside, snaps its formidable jaws at the company. The custom also survives in Sth. Wales but the tune is different. There are many variations in the words. This is a Nottinghamshire version.” M. H. Mason, “Nursery Rhymes & Country Songs” Metzler 1877.
Baring-Gould Ms. Ref. PC 1. 163(77)