“I’m Fan MaCool!” sez the thief ov the wurruld, as cool as a frog.
“Well, Fan MaCool or not,” sez the king, mockin’ him, “ye’ll have to jump the strame yander for freckenin’ the lives clane out ov me ladies,” sez he, “an’ for disturbin’ our spoort ginerally,” sez he.
“An’ what’ll I get for that same?” sez Fan, lettin’ on (pretending) he was afeerd.
“Me daughter, Maynish,” sez the king, wid a laugh; for he thought, ye see, Fan would be drownded.
“Me hand on the bargain,” sez Fan; but the owld chap gev him a rap on the knuckles wid his specktre (sceptre) an’ towld him to hurry up, or he’d get the ollaves (judges) to put him in the Black Dog pres’n or the Marshals—I forgets which—it’s so long gone by!
Well, Fan peeled off his coatamore, an’ threw away his bottheen ov a stick, an’ the prencess seein’ his big body an’ his long arums an’ legs like an oaktree, couldn’t help remarkin’ to her comerade, the craythur—
“Bedad, Cauth (Kate),” sez she, “but this beggarman is a fine bit ov a bouchal (boy),” sez she; “it’s in the arumy he ought to be,” sez she, lookin’ at him agen, an’ admirin’ him, like.
So, Fan, purtendin’ to be fixin’ his shoes be the bank, jist pulled two lusmores (fox-gloves) an’ put them anunder his heels; for thim wor the fairies’ own flowers that works all soort ov inchantment, an’ he, ov coorse, knew all about it; for he got the wrinkle from an owld lenaun (fairy guardian) named Cleena, that nursed him when he was a little stand-a-loney.
Well, me dear, ye’d think it was on’y over a little creepie (three-legged) stool he was leppin’ whin he landed like a thrish jist at the fut ov the prencess; an’ his father’s son he was, that put his two arums around her, an’ gev her a kiss—haith, ye’d hear the smack ov it at the Castle o’ Dublin. The ould king groaned like a corncrake, an’ pulled out his hair in hatfuls, an’ at last he ordhered the bowld beggarman off to be kilt; but, begorrah, when they tuk off his weskit an’ seen the collar ov goold around Fan’s neck the ould chap became delighted, for he knew thin he had the commandher ov Airyun for a son-in-law.
“Hello!” sez the king, “who have we now?” sez he, seein’ the collar. “Begonnys,” sez he, “you’re no boccagh (beggar) anyways!”