The Queen’s string of imperatives reads like a malfunctioning machine of power: it mixes capital punishment (“Behead”), expulsion (“Turn … out of court”), crowd-control jargon (“Suppress him”), petty torment (“Pinch him”), and cosmetic mutilation (“Off with his whiskers”). The randomness is the point. She does not distinguish between crimes, disruptions, or mere inconvenience; any friction to her will is met with whatever command occurs to her. The rhetoric’s rhythm—short, stacked imperatives without conjunctions—creates an asyndetic battering that mirrors authoritarian reflex rather than considered judgment. Carroll ties the language to contemporary legal reportage: earlier, Alice puzzles over newspapers that say applause was “immediately suppressed,” and the narrative shows us how—by bagging guinea-pigs. Here the Queen’s “suppress him!” expands that joke into open tyranny, extending “suppression” from decorum to bodies. The Dormouse’s sleepy “Treacle” is not defiance; it’s an irrelevant aside in a nonsensical trial. Yet the Queen escalates to violence, revealing a court in which procedure and punishment are theatrical gestures. The commands thereby satirize courts that perform order without pursuing truth, anticipating the next chapter’s “sentence first—verdict afterwards.”