I do believe, the faith your reasons tore
To shreds, your reasons may again restore;
The limb that you have shatter’d, you can set;
Reverse your judgment,—the whole truth unfold,
Restate the case—I’ll fly my banner yet—
Falk [haughtily].
I stamp no copper Happiness as gold.
Strawman [looking fixedly at him].
Remember then that, lately, one whose scent
For truth is of the keenest told us this: