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Spencer þe Rover

THese word were composed by Spencer þe Rover
who travelled thro England and most parts of Wales
He had been so reduced, which caused great confusion
And þat was þe reason he went on þe roam

In Yorkshire, near Rotherham, he had been on his rambles
Being weary of traveling, he sat down to rest
At the foot of yon mountain þere flowes a clear fountain
With bread and cold water he himself did refreshe

It tasted more sweeter þan the gold he had wasted
More sweeter þan honey and gave more content
But þe þoughts of his children, lamentand and cryand
Brought tears to his eyn which made him lament

THe night fast approachand, to þe wood he resorted
With woodbine and ivy his bed for to make
THere he dreamt about sighing, lamenting and crying
Gang home to thy fambly and wandering forsake

Twas the fifth day of November, ich have a reason to remember
WHen first he arrived home to his fambly and wife
THey did stand quite astounded, surprised, dumbfounded
To see such a stranger once more in their sight

His children came around him with their prittle prattling stories
With their prittle prattling stories to drive care away
Now þey are united like birdes of one feather
Like bees in one hive contented they'll stay

And now he 's alivand in his cottage contented
With woodbine and roses growand all around the door
He 's as happy as þose þat have þousands of riches
Contented he'll stay and gang rambland no more.

Traditional English Folksong

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