Oh for a pardon! My reprieve! Perhaps I shall be pardoned. The King has no dislike to me. I wish to see my lawyer! He was right, and I should prefer the galleys. Five years of the galleys, — nay, twenty years, or even the galleys for life. Yes, and to be branded with letters! But it would let me have a reprieve of my life! A galley-slave can move, come and go, and see the sunshine.
Oh! I must see my lawyer; he shall discover some new plea to urge in mitigation of my sentence.
How can I thus write when every point of his eloquence has already failed, and been unanswerably refuted!