Sweet Kitty, dear Kitty, my own sweet Kitty Clyde,
In a sly little nook by the babbling brook,
Lives my own sweet Kitty Clyde.
With a basket to put in her fish,
Every morn with a line and a hook,
This sweet little lass, through the tall heavy grass,
Steals along by the clear running brook.
She throws her line into the stream,
And trips it along the brook side,
Oh, how I do wish that I was a fish.
To be caught by sweet Kitty Clyde.
Sweet Kitty, dear Kitty, &c.
How I wish that I was a Bee,
I’d not gather honey from flowers,
But would steal a dear sip from Kitty’s sweet lip,
And make my own _hive_ in her bowers.
Or, if I was some little bird,
I would not build nests in the air,
But keep close by the side of sweet Kitty Clyde,
And sleep in her soft silken hair,
Sweet Kitty, dear Kitty, &c.