From a broadside in the Bodleian collection: Roud number 1490:


CROCKERY WARE.

In Belfast town there lived a lad;
He courted a lass both fine and gay.
One favor of her he did crave:
He asked and she gave him leave.

Pretty Polly went home for to contrive
How she might plan this joke at night:
In the middle of the room she set a chair
And on it fixed some crockery ware.

[The] young man 'rose in the middle of the night
Thinking to go to his heart's delight,
But he missed his way, I do declare,
And broke his shins o'er the crockery ware.

Her old mother rose in a terrible fright
And loudly called for a light.
"You rogue!" says she. "What brought you here?
For you have broke my crockery ware."

Pretty Polly lay laughing at the fun
To think how well this joke was done.
"You rogue!" says she. "What brought you here?
Come and pay my mother for her crockery ware."

Come all you wild and rambling sparks
That love to ramble in the dark.
You will miss your way, I do declare,
And break your shins o'er the crockery ware.