Well, he was in want of a horse, and so he wint to a field hard by, where the miller's horse was grazin' that used to carry the ground corn around the counthry.
"This is the idintical horse for me," says the Waiver, "he is used to carryin' flour and male; and what am I but the flower o' shovelry in a coat of mail; so that the horse won't be put out of his way in the laste."
But as he was ridin' him out of the field, who should see him but the miller.
"Is it stalin' my horse, you are, honest man?" says the miller.
"No," says the Waiver, "I am only goin, to exercise him," says he, "in the cool o' the evenin', it will be good for his health."
"Thank you kindly," said the miller, "but lave him where he is, and you'll obleege me."
"I can't afford it," says the Waiver, running his horse at the ditch.
"Bad luck to your impidence," says the miller. "you've as much tin about you as a thravelin' tink but youv'e more brass. Come back here, you vagabone," says he.
But he was late;—away galloped the Waiver, and tuk 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 then, 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 was now; but there was no turnpike then, glory be to God! whin he got to Dublin he wint shtraight to the palace, and whin he got into the coort yard, he let his horse go and graze about the place, for the grass was growin' out betune the stones: everythin' was flourishin' thin in Dublin, you see.
Well, the king was lookin' out in his dhrawin' room, for divarshun, whin the Waiver came in, but the Waiver purtended not to see him, and he wint over to a stone sait under the windy—for you see there was stone sates all round about the place for the accommodation of the people, for the king was a dacent obleegin' man,—well, as I said, the Waiver wint over and lay down on one of the sates, just undher the king's windy, and purtended to go asleep: but he tuk 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 wan of the lords of his coort that was shtandin' behind him, howldin' up the skirt iv his coat, accordin' to raison, and says he: