“Bad luck to your impidence,” says the miller; “you’ve as much tin about you as a thravellin’ tinker, but you’ve more brass. Come back here, you vagabone,” says he.
But he was too late—away galloped the waiver, and took the road to Dublin, for he thought the best thing he could do was to go to the King o’ Dublin (for Dublin was a grate place thin, and had a king iv its own), and he thought maybe the King o’ Dublin would give him work. Well, he was four days goin’ to Dublin, for the baste was not the best, and the roads worse, not all as one as now; but there was no turnpikes then, glory be to God! Whin he got to Dublin he wint sthrait to the palace, and whin he got into the coortyard he let his horse go and graze about the place, for the grass was growin’ out betune the stones; everything was flourishin’ thin in Dublin, you see. Well, the King was lookin’ out of his dhrawin’-room windy for divarshin, whin the waiver kem in; but the waiver pretended not to see him, and he wint over to a stone sate undher the windy—for, you see, there was stone sates all around about the place for the accommodation o’ the people—for the King was a dacent, obleegin’ man. Well, as I said, the waiver wint over and lay down an one o’ the sates, just undher the King’s windy, and purtended to go asleep; but he took care to turn out the front of his shield that had the letthers an it. Well, my dear, with that the King calls out to one of the lords of his coort that was standin’ behind him howldin’ up the skirt of his coat, according to rayson, and says he, “Look here,” says he, “what do you think of a vagabone like that comin’ undher my very nose to go sleep? It is thrue I’m a good King,” says he, “and I ’commodate the people by havin’ sates for them to sit down and enjoy the raycreation and contimplation of seein’ me here lookin’ out o’ my dhrawin’-room windy for divarshin; but that is no rayson they are to make a hotel o’ the place and come and sleep here. Who is it at all?” says the King.
“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.
o kill that vagabone dhraggin, to be sure,” says the King.