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.

    "O, 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!
        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, and ere I did leave her,
        She vow'd for such pleasure she'd break it again.

    'Twas hay-making 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.

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