"Now over beyant the Twelve Pins, in the Joyce Counthry, there was a great inchanter, that had all kinds av saycrets, an’ knew where ye’d dig for a pot av goold, an’ all about doctherin’, and cud turn ye into a pig in a minnit, an’ build a cassel in wan night, an’ make himself disappare when ye wanted him, an’ take anny shape he plazed, so as to look to be a baste whin he wasn’t, an’ was a mighty dape man entirely. Now to him wint the princess an’ axed him phat to do, for she didn’t care a traneen for the king, but ’ud give the two eyes out av her head to get the dimunds. The inchanter heard phat she had to say an’ then towld her, ’Now, my dear, you marry the owld felly, an’ have no fear, fur av he daars to touch a hair av yer goolden locks, I’ll take care av you an’ av him too.’ "So he gev her a charm that she was to say whin she wanted him to come an’ another wan to repate whin she was in mortial danger an’ towld her fur to go an’ get marr’ed an’ get the dimunds as quick as she cud. An’ that she did, an’ at foorst the king was mightily plazed at gettin’ her, bekase she was hard to get, an’ give her the dimunds an’ all she wanted, so she got on very well an’ tuk care av the panthry an’ helped the other wives about the coort. "Wan day the king got up out av the goolden bed he shlept an, wid a terrible sulk an him, an’ in a state av mind entirely, for the wind was in the aiste an’ he had the roomytisms in his back. So he cursed an’ shwore like a Turk an’ whin the waither axed him to come to his brekquest, he kicked him into the yard av the coort, an’ wint in widout him an’ set down be the table. So wan av the quanes brought him his bowl av stirabout an’ thin he found fault wid it. ’It’s burned,’ say he, an’ threw it at her. Then Quane Peggy Joyce, that hadn’t seen the timper that was an him, come in from the panthry wid a shmile an her face an’ a big noggin o’ milk in her hand. ’Good morrow to ye,’ she says to him, but the owld vagabone didn’t spake a word. ’Good morrow,’ she says to him agin, an’ thin he broke out wid a fury. [Illustration: "Howld yer pace, ye palaverin’ shtrap"] "’Howld yer pace, ye palaverin’ shtrap. D’ ye think I’m to be deefened wid yer tongue? Set the noggin an the table an’ be walkin’ aff wid yerself or I’ll make ye sorry ye come,’ says he. "It was the first time he iver spake like that to her, an’ the Irish blood ov her riz, an’ in a minnit she was as mad as a gandher and as bowld as a lion.