P. Coun. You grow impertinent, Sir.
Well. No, most honoured Sir! but I am filled with spirit and courage, like an old trusty servant, armed with perseverance and justice in the cause of the orphan, which calls aloud to heaven for redress. That I am, and that you will find me.
P. Coun. Do you intend to appeal?
Well. Yes, I do, indeed.
P. Coun. Well, do so, and leave me.
Well. No, no; I will not leave you. I appeal to you, most honoured Sir, not qua judex, but qua homo, qua homo, who believes in the day of judgment, and, at the sound of the last trump, would wish to be called to the right; not to be left among the damned, where many an Aulic Counsellor will be found, I am afraid.
P. Coun. I honour the feelings that animate you, Sir; but they are foreign to the affair. Appeal in form, at--
Well. To avoid all replicas, duplicas, et fatalia, that may delay and put off the cause, I will put you an argumentum, that, eo ipso, shall invalidate your sentence, and re-instate the poor children in their right, assigned to them by God and justice.
P. Coun. (pauses.) Are you possessed of such an argument? (With surprise.) It will be welcome.
Well. Indeed! what you should call truly welcome?--