They are our own hobblers, are they not?
"Sir Nigel" by Arthur Conan Doyle
Here aged hobblers and white-haired seniors, bowed mothers and women advanced in years, walled round him in happy throng.
"Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln" by Charles L. Marson
And is there in no post a hobbler, Who should have been, by right, a cobbler?
"Fables of John Gay" by John Gay
All landholders were to furnish men-at-arms, hobblers, and archers, in proportion to their incomes.
"Life of Edward the Black Prince" by Louise Creighton