No vile whip nor spur Did your sides ever gall, For none did you need, You would bound at my call; And for each act of kindness You would me caress, Thou art never unfaithful, My Bonnie Black Bess. When dark, sable midnight Her mantle had thrown O'er the bright face of nature, How oft we have gone To the famed Houndslow heath, Though an unwelcome guest To the minions of fortune, My Bonnie Black Bess. How silent you stood When the carriage I stopped, The gold and the jewels Its inmates would drop. No poor man I plundered Nor e'er did oppress The widows or orphans, My Bonnie Black Bess. When Argus-eyed justice Did me hot pursue, From Yorktown to London Like lightning we flew. No toll bars could stop you, The waters did breast, And in twelve hours we made it, My Bonnie Black Bess. But hate darkens o'er me, Despair is my lot, And the law does pursue me For the many I've shot; To save me, poor brute, Thou hast done thy best, Thou art worn out and weary, My Bonnie Black Bess. Hark! they never shall have A beast like thee; So noble and gentle And brave, thou must die, My dumb friend, Though it does me distress,-- There! There! I have shot thee, My Bonnie Black Bess. In after years When I am dead and gone, This story will be handed From father to son; My fate some will pity, And some will confess 'Twas through kindness I killed thee, My Bonnie Black Bess. No one can e'er say That ingratitude dwelt In the bosom of Turpin,-- 'Twas a vice never felt. I will die like a man And soon be at rest; Now, farewell forever, My Bonnie Black Bess. THE LAST LONGHORN An ancient long-horned bovine Lay dying by the river; There was lack of vegetation And the cold winds made him shiver; A cowboy sat beside him With sadness in his face. To see his final passing,-- This last of a noble race. The ancient eunuch struggled And raised his shaking head, Saying, "I care not to linger When all my friends are dead. These Jerseys and these Holsteins, They are no friends of mine; They belong to the nobility Who live across the brine. "Tell the Durhams and the Herefords When they come a-grazing round, And see me lying stark and stiff Upon the frozen ground, I don't want them to bellow When they see that I am dead, For I was born in Texas Near the river that is Red. "Tell the cayotes, when they come at night A-hunting for their prey, They might as well go further, For they'll find it will not pay. If they attempt to eat me, They very soon will see That my bones and hide are petrified,-- They'll find no beef on me.