Rare Traditional English Folk Songs

Oh whither, oh whither is my sweet mollier laddy,
My poor raddled cludge needs a-mollying oh,
My mouldering cludge needs a-mollying badly
And my mollier is gone to the wars, oh.

***

The edges are frayed and the top it is mouldy,
The bottom is rotten, the sides they are green,
The smell would deter all but those who go boldly,
And my sweet mollier lad is nowhere to be seen.

***

Though soon my cludge I will have to despatch,
For the stench is beginning  to curdle the milk,
For my mollier lad, there'll ne'er be a match,
And no more will the world see the like of his ilk.

***

(Extract from "Folk Songs of Olde Englande" - J. M. Blunt 1892)