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.
