“Sure, do you think he could kill him,” says the lord, “whin 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 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.”