Rambling Comber
You combers all both great and small
Come listen to my ditty
For it is ye and only ye
Regard my form with pity
For I can write, read, dance and fight
Indeed it’s all my honour
But oh my dear, I love strong beer
For I’m a rambling comber
It’s on the tramp I’m forced to scamp
My shoes are all a tatter
My hose unbound trail on the ground
I seldom wear a garter
I have a coat scarce worth a groat
And surely want for another
But oh my dear, I love strong beer
For I’m a rambling comber
I have no watch, I have a patch
On both sides of my breeches
My hat is torn, my wig is worn
My health is all my riches
Would that I had some gay gold lace
My clothing to embroider
And a charming lass to fill my glass
For I’m a rambling comber
A tailor’s bill I’ll seldom fill
I never do take measure
I have no debt that will me let
In the taking of my pleasure
Nor ever will ’til I grow old
When I must give it over
For then old age will me engage
For being a rambling comber
A pitcher boy I will employ
While I have cash or credit
I’ll rant and roar and call for more
And pay them when I have it
For this is always on my mind
Be I drunk or sober
A bowl of punch my thirst to quench
A quart of old October
You combers all both great and small …
– English Traditional