“And it’s I that will be the knight!” says he.
“All night, if you plaze, Thady,” says she.
“None o’your coaxin’,” says he. “I’m detarmined on it, and I’ll set off immediately and be a knight arriant.”
“A what?” says she.
“A knight arriant, woman.”
“Lord, be good to me! what’s that?” says she.
“A knight arriant is a rale gintleman,” says he; “goin’ round the world for sport, with a swoord by his side, takin’ whatever he plazes for himself; and that’s a knight arriant,” says he.
Well, sure enough he wint about among his neighbours the next day, and he got an owld kittle from one, and a saucepan from another, and he took them to the tailor, and he sewed him up a shuit o’ tin clothes like any knight arriant, and he borrowed a pot lid, and that he was very partic’lar about bekase it was his shield, and he went to a frind o’ his, a painther and glazier, and made him paint an his shield in big letthers:—
“I’M THE MAN OF ALL MIN,
THAT KILL’D THREESCORE AND TIN