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
water'd the plain.
"Oh, what shall I do now?
'Twas looking at you, now;
Sure, sure, such a pitcher
I'll ne'er meet again.
'Twas the pride of my dairy,
O Barnay 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 then I gave her,
before I did leave her,
She vow'd for such pleasure
she'd break it again.
'Twas haymaking 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.
_Edward Lysaght._