The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #25489 Message #3569719
Posted By: Jim Dixon
24-Oct-13 - 04:13 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Req/Add: The Rambling Comber
Subject: Lyr Add: THE RAMBLING COMBER (from Bodleian)
From the Bodleian collection, Harding B 28(188):
[I have boldfaced the words that are different from the above version. In some cases, these lines are an improvement; in other cases I think the above lines are better. If you plan to sing this, I recommend you compare the versions line by line carefully to determine what you want to sing.
It's fascinating to see how "gay gold lace" became "giggling lass."]
THE RAMBLING COMBER
You combers all both great and small,
Come and listen to my ditty,
For it is he and only he
Regardless of your pity;
For I can write, read, drink and sing,
And that is all my honour.
My failing is—I love strong beer
For I'm a rambling comber.
A dozen of wool through combs I'll pull
All in the neatest manner,
Both sleek and fine, like silk shall shine,
To obey my master's orders.
Then when I've done, then home I'll run,
And carry it to the owner.
I make no doubt but that he'll count
I am the rambling comber.
Then on the tramp then I did scamp.
My shoes are in bad order.
My stockings down unto the ground,
And I seldom wear a garter.
My coat is scarcely worth a groat.
I seldom wear the other,
Because, my dear, I love strong beer,
For I'm the rambling comber.
My clothes are all worn quite thread bare.
I sadly want some others.
The tailor's bill I seldom fill,
For he never takes my measure.
He never shall till I grow old,
Then I must give it over,
Because, my dear, I love strong beer,
For I'm the rambling comber.
I have no watch, though I've a patch
On both sides of my breeches.
My hat is torn, my wig well worn.
My health is all my riches.
O had I but some gay gold lace
My clothes for to embroider!
'Tis fops and beaus that do wear those.
I hold them all in scorn, sir.
A pitcher, boy, I will employ
While I have cash or credit.
I'll rant and roar, chalk on a score,
And pay them when I have it;
For it is always in my mind,
Let me be drunk or sober,
A bowl of punch is my delight
Or a pot of good October.