These words were composed by Spencer the Rover
Who traveled most parts of Great Britain and Wales
He had been so reduced, which caused great confusion
And there was the reason he went on the roam

In Yorkshire near Rotherham, he had been on his rambles
Being weary of traveling, he sat himself down
At the foot of yonder mountain, there runs a clear fountain
With bread and cool water, he himself did refresh

And it tasted more sweeter than the gold he had squandered
More sweeter than honey, and it gave more content
But the thoughts of his babies lamenting their father
Brought tears to his eyes and made him lament

And the night fast approaching, to the wood he resorted
With woodbine and ivy, his bed for to make
There he dreamt about crying, lamenting, and sighing
Go home to your family, and your rambling forsake

On the fifth of November, I've a reason to remember
When first he arrived at his family's front door
Well they looked so surprised when first he arrived
To behold 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
Now they are united like birds of one feather
Like bees in one hive, contented they'll be
Contended they'll be, and go rambling no more