She was Kit, and he was Juan,
And they lived at Port y Shee;
Him she called her own King Gorry,
Her he called his Ben my Chree—
As they walked along the meadows
Of the peaceful Port y Shee.

“Kit,” quoth he, “I cannot marry,
Marry, marry thee,
For thou no marriage portion hast,
And I no property.”

Quoth she “There is our little calf—
I cannot have it now,
But Father says it shall be mine
When it becomes a cow;

So although we cannot marry,
Marry, marry, marry now,
We can tarry, tarry, tarry
Till the calf becomes a cow;”
So they both resolved to tarry
Till the calf should be a cow.

Day by day she'd put a wreath
Of daisies round its neck,
For Juan's sake she'd often stoop
To kisSher Colbagh breck.

One night there came a fairy host—
'Twas on the first of May;
They filled the barn with song and rout,
And stole the calf away.

But in her stall, so snug and warm,
They'd left three sacks of gold,
They'd filled the loft with yellow corn
And harvest wealth untold.

Kit and Juan, there and then, resolv'd
To wed without delay;
And they married, married, married
In that merry month of May;
And Kirk Braddan bells were ringing,
Ringing, ringing all the day.

Lads and maids, don't marry, marry
Till your ways and means are sure;
Lest, when want comes in at the window,—
Love flies out at the door:
Therefore tarry, tarry, tarry
To the tune of Traa dy liooar!