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 down tumbled,
And all the sweet butter-milk watered the plain.
“Oh! what shall I do now?—’twas looking at you, now!
Sure, sure, such a pitcher I’ll ne’er see again;
’Twas the pride of my dairy—O Barney McCleary,
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;