Rare Traditional English Folk Songs

Thine unmollied cludge is like a May morning,
The mould verily sparkleth like dew,
But a cludge so neglected,
Would ne'er be selected,
To nibble, except by a few.

***

Thine unmollied cludge doth need a good forking,
But ne'er could I fork such a thing,
Though you may have forgotten,
The stench is so rotten,
Forsooth! It hath withered my string.

***

Thine unmollied cludge dear should ne'er be unleashed,
On good gentlefolk such as I,
Its malodorous bent,
Could ne'er be heaven sent,
And it bringeth a tear to the eye.

***

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