To the best of my knowledge, the Rambler scans through a text and, when it
finds a word, phrase or sequence of letters (you can alter the size of the
unit - call it a syntagm - it operates on) that is repeated elsewhere, may
or may not decide to jump randomly to the point in the text where the
syntagm recurs. e.g.:

To the text where the unit - call it operates on) that is repeated
elsewhere, may not decide to the point in the text and, when it a syntagm
recurs. e.g.:

Note that with repeated phrases like "cast off, cast off", the Rambler is
apt to cycle endlessly, or what may seem like it, before finally getting to
the other end of the phrase.

I wrote a shell script in bash, a linux shell, to do the same thing, then
discovered that there's a handy script in the gnu emacs text editor that
does it too. If you have, or can get hold of, emacs you should be able to
find it. I think there's a version for DOS, if getting hold of a machine
running linux or some other Unix variant is a problem. Or a Word macro in
VBA would do it fairly nicely - if I get the time I'll write one for you.

The Rambler is probably best approached as an intuition pump, to borrow a
phrase of Daniel Dennett's, rather like Burroughs' cut-ups and other
mechanical techniques of that ilk. I sometimes write using the manual
equivalent of the same technique, just jostling phrases around and making
them rub up against each other in odd ways.

Here's a third recycled ballad, again by Rebecca (who is staying with us at
the moment):

YOUR GOWN

These words to my bedfellow wand.
And twenty seamen bold
to box her being up in his back towards me.

For thee, what ails thee.
Your gown for the glittering, for the truth
you'll give your berry brown gown for me

among the rush. The king has just been
and tender lambs
that make a gown for thee.

Your journey to pull off,
light or firelight off,
cast off, cast off, light him some maiden.

If your berry brown gown, your gown,
your journey to pull off, cast off, light black rain,
that I do love your body next.

And it is for the lady of as milk-white steed,
around my parents would embrace
they'll ride upon Willie of the Winsbury.

You're stirring he has just been.
Cast off, cast off, light him some of the lady Tomorrow.
I'll make a gall at your back.

- Dom