Traditional Irish Text

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 watered the plain.
"Oh! what shall I do now, ’twas looking at you now
For sure, such a pitcher I’ll ne’er have again;
‘Twas the pride of my dairy, oh Barney McCleary
You’re sent as curse to the girls of Coleraine."

I sat down charm her and gently did calm her,
That such a misfortune had given her such pain.
A kiss then I gave her, and e'er I did leave her,
She vowed for such pleasure, she’d break it again.
It was haymaking season, I can’t tell the reason
But more and more buttermilk watered the plain.
For very soon after poor Kitty’s disaster
The wasn't a pitcher found whole in Coleraine.