"Not a one o' me knows, plaze your majesty."
"I think he must be a furriner," says the King, "bekase his dhress is outlandish."
"And doesn't know manners, more betoken," says the lord.
"I'll go down and circumspect him myself," says the King. "Folly me," says he to the lord, wavin' his hand at the same time in the most dignacious manner.
Down he wint accordingly, followed by the lord; and whin he wint over to where the waiver was lying, sure, the first thing he seen was his shield with the big letthers an it, and with that, says he to the lord, "By dad," says he, "this is the very man I want."
"For what, plaze your majesty?" says the lord.
"To kill that vagabone dhraggin, to be sure," says the King.
"Sure, do you think he could kill him," says the lord, "whin all the stoutest knights in the land wasn't aiquil to it, but never kem back, and was ate up alive by the cruel desaiver."
"Sure, don't you see there," says the King, pointin' at the shield, "that he killed three score and tin at one blow; and the man that done that, I think, is a match for anything."
So, with that, he wint over to the waiver and shuck him by the shouldher for to wake him, and the waiver rubbed his eyes as if just wakened, and the King says to him, "God save you!" said he.
"God save you kindly!" says the waiver, purtendin' he was quite onknowst who he was spakin' to.
"Do you know who I am," says the King, "that you make so free, good man?"
"No, indeed," says the waiver; "you have the advantage o' me."
"To be sure I have," says the King, moighty high; "sure, ain't I the King o' Dublin?" says he.
The waiver dhropped down on his two knees forninst the King, and says he, "I beg God's pardon and yours for the liberty I tuk; plaze your holiness, I hope you'll excuse it."
"No offince," says the King; "get up, good man. And what brings you here?" says he.
"I'm in want o' work, plaze your riverence," says the waiver.
"Well, suppose I give you work?" says the King.
"I'll be proud to sarve you, my lord," says the waiver.
"Very well," says the King. "You killed three score and tin at one blow, I understan'," says the King.
"Yis," says the waiver; "that was the last thrifle o' work I done, and I'm afeared my hand 'ill go out o' practice if I don't get some job to do at wanst."