shield with the big letthers an it, and with that, says he to the
lord, 'Bedad,' says he, 'this is the very man I want.'

'For what, plaze your majesty?' says the lord.

'To kill that vagabone dragghin, to be sure,' says the king.

'Sure, do you think he could kill him,' says the lord, 'when 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 an 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 afeard my hand 'll go out o' practice if I don't get some job to
do at wanst.'

'You shall have a job immediantly,' says the king. 'It is not three
score and tin or any fine thing like that; it is only a blaguard
dhraggin that is disturbin' the counthry and ruinatin' my tinanthry
wid aitin' their powlthry, and I'm lost for want of eggs,' says the
king.

'Throth, thin, plaze your worship,' says the waiver, 'you look as
yollow as if you swallowed twelve yolks this minit.'

'Well, I want this dhraggin to be killed,' says the king. 'It will be
no throuble in life to you; and I am only sorry that it isn't betther
worth your while, for he isn't worth fearin' at all; only I must tell
you, that he l