In Yorkshire near Rotherham, he had been on the ramble.
Weary of travelling, he sat down to rest.
By the foot of yon' mountain
Lays a clear flowing fountain.
With bread and cold water he himself did refresh.

With the night fast approaching, to the woods he resorted
With wood, vine and ivy his bed for to make.
But he dreamt about sighing,
Lamenting and crying;
Go home to your family and rambling forsake.

't Is the fifth day of November, I've reason to remember,
When first he arrived home to his family and friends.
They did stand so astounded,
Surprised and dumbfounded,
To see such a stranger once more in their sight.

And his children came around him with their prittle prattling stories,
With their prittle prattling stories to drive care away.
And he's as happy as those
With thousands of riches.
Contented he'll remain and not ramble away.

This tune was composed by Spencer the Rover,
As valiant a man as ever left home.
And he had been much reduced,
And caused great confusion.
And that was the reason he started to roam...