The Broken Pitcher - song lyrics 
American Old-time song lyrics from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
THE BROKEN PITCHER Words by "Nemo." Music by Henry Pontet. 
Trip, trip over the grass, Merrily went a laughing lass; The daisies peeped to see her pass, All on a Summer morning. Her pitcher she bore unto the well That lay in the lap of a mossy dell; And her voice rang clear as a silver bell, The rival song birds scorning. 
But as she turned a hawthorn bush, A youth rushed forth with speed so rash; That down came pitcher with a crash, And left her all a mourning. Oh, sir, what have you done? Ah, me, where shall I run? My pitcher's gone, I had but one! What will my mother say? Oh, sir, what have you done? Ah, me, where shall I run? My pitcher's gone, I had but one! Oh, what will my mother say? 
"Stay, stay, my pretty maid! Soon your pitcher shall be paid;" A golden piece in her hand he laid, Bright as the Summer morning. But as he looked upon her face, He saw her simple, winsome grace; Nor gold, nor pearls, nor priceless lace, Her slender form adorning. 
He saw the blush, the drooping lash, And gazed, tho' gazing there was rash; When snip, and snap, his heart went crash, And left him all a mourning. "Oh, maid, what have you done? Snick! quick! home let us run! y heart is gone, I had but one, What will your own heart say?" "Oh, sir, what have I done? Quick! quick! homeward we'll run, What's fairly done can't be undone, And that's all my heart can say."