  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 buttermilk watered 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 Barney M’Cleary, 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. |
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