"Very well," says the king, "you killed threescore and tin at one blow,
I undershtan'," 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 to do immidiately," says the king. "It's not threescore and tin or any fine thing like that, it is only a blaguard dhraggin, that is disturbin' the counthry and ruinating my tinanthry wid aitin' their powlthry, and I'm lost for want of eggs," says the king.
"Troth, thin plaze your worship," says the waiver, "you look as yellow as if you'd swallowed twelve yolks this minit."
"Well, I want this dhraggin to be killed," says the king. "It will be no throuble in life to you; and I am only sorry that it isn't betther worth your while, for he isn't worth fearin' at all; only I must tell you that he lives in the county Galway, in the middle of a bog, and he has an advantage in that."
"Oh, I don't value it in the laste," says the Waiver, "for the last three-score and tin I killed was in a soft place."
"When will you undhertake the job, then?" says the king.
"Let me at him at wanst," says the Waiver.
"That is what I like," says the king, "you're the very man for my money," says he.
"Talkin' of money," says the waiver, "by the same token I'll want a thrifle o' change from you for my thravellin' charges."