Sansthānaka. [Wrathfully.] Confound it! Why can't my shuit be conshidered? If it isn't conshidered, then I'll tell my brother-in-law, King Pālaka, my shishter's husband, and I'll tell my shishter and my mother too, and I'll have thish judge removed, and another judge appointed. [He starts to go away.]
Beadle. Oh, sir! Brother-in-law of the king! Wait a moment. I will inform the magistrates at once. [He returns to the judge.] The brother-in-law of the king is angry, and says [He repeats Sansthānaka's words.]
Judge. This fool might do anything. My good man, tell him to come hither, that his suit will be considered.
Beadle. [Approaching Sansthānaka.] Sir, the magistrates send word that you are to come in, that your suit will be considered. Pray enter, sir.
Sansthānaka. Firsht they shay it won't be conshidered, then they shay it will be conshidered. The magishtrates are shcared. Whatever I shay, I'll make 'em believe it. Good! I'll enter. [He enters and approaches the magistrates.] I am feeling very well, thank you. Whether you feel well or not that depends on me.
Judge. [Aside.] Well, well! We seem to have a highly cultivated plaintiff. [Aloud.] Pray be seated.
Sansthānaka. Well! Thish floor belongs to me. I'll sit down wherever I like. [To the gild-warden.] I'll sit here. [To the beadle.] Why shouldn't I sit here? [He lays his hand on the judges head.] I'll sit here. [He sits down on the floor.]
Judge. You desire to present a case?
Sansthānaka. Of courshe.
Judge. Then state the case.
Sansthānaka. I'll whishper it. I was born in the great family of a man as glorioush as a wine-glass.
My father's father of the king—in law;
