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;

Sure, sure such a pitcher I’ll ne’er meet again,

‘Twas the pride of my dairy.

Oh, Barney McCleary,

You’re sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine.”