As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping,
With a pitcher of milk for the fair at Coleraine,
When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher down tumbled,
And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain.
“Oh, what shall I do now! ‘Twas looking at you now,
I’m sure such a pitcher I’ll ne’er see again.
‘Twas the pride of my dairy – oh, Barney McCleary,
You’re sent as a plague to the girls at Coleraine.”
I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her
That such a misfortune should give her such pain;
‘Twas the haymaking season – I can’t tell leave her
she vowed for such pleasure she’d break it again.
‘Twas the haymaking season, I can’t tell the reason,
misfortunes will never come singly, ‘tis plain.
For very soon after poor Kitty’s disaster,
The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.