Kitty of Coleraine

AS beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping
With a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine,
When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled,
And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain.

O, what shall I do now, ’t was looking at you now,
Sure, sure, such a pitcher I ’ll ne’er meet again,
’T was the pride of my dairy, O Barney M’Leary,
You ’re sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine.

I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her
That such a misfortune should give her such pain,
A kiss I then gave her,—before I did leave her,
She vowed for such pleasure she ’d break it again.

’T was hay-making season, I can’t tell the reason,
Misfortunes will never come single,—that ’s plain,
For very soon after poor Kitty’s disaster,
The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.