It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller; for Samuel Weller stepped briskly into the box the instant his name was pronounced; and placing his hat on the floor, and his arms on the rail, took a bird’s–eye view of the Bar, and a comprehensive survey of the Bench, with a remarkably cheerful and lively aspect. ‘What’s your name, sir?’ inquired the judge. / ‘Sam Weller, my Lord,’ replied that gentleman. / ‘Do you spell it with a “V” or a “W”?’ inquired the judge. / ‘That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my Lord,’ replied Sam; ‘I never had occasion to spell it more than once or twice in my life, but I spells it with a “V.” ’ / Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, ‘Quite right too, Samivel, quite right. Put it down a “we,” my Lord, put it down a “we.”’

If you're an ass, may we all aspire to such asshood!

Belinda, remonstrated Mr. Pocket, from the other end of the table, how can you be so unreasonable? […]

In his hand he waved – an appropriate symbol of disapprobation – his London gamp meticulously rolled.