Nay. I am tuckered with this day, there will, hence, be a cease of all neighs and brays and trotting-cantering-galloping ways.

I understand you are a mogul unaccustomed to sitting on the receiving end of a renouncement and I would prefer to prevent this situation from progressing into a pother, but your gifts of mane-do and sexy saddle will not persuade. And, if you are thinking that dangling an oaty electuary in front of my reins will reign in a desired result, you are welcome to wait for my response behind these hefty hind legs.

I am hitting the hay twelve minutes ago, but if you would like to hit me up with some hay and other grains for a breakfast ambigu of sorts when I arise, I may consider giving you an extra couple hours of ride time regarding your rushes—contingent, of course, on the same temporal allotment for shiny-coat brushes. ; )