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, and, ere I did leave her,
She vowed for such pleasure she’d break it again.
’Twas hay-making season—I can’t tell the reason—
Misfortunes will never come single, ’tis plain;
For very soon after poor Kitty’s disaster
The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.
Edward Lysaght.