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 butter-milk watered 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'Leary, 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,--before 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,--that's plain, For, very soon after poor Kitty's disaster, The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine. |