“‘SURE, DON’T YOU SEE THERE,’ SAYS THE KING, ‘THAT HE KILLED THREESCORE AND TIN AT ONE BLOW.’”
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 threescore and tin at one blow, I undherstan’,” 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 immediately,” says the king. “It is not threescore 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.