There at the Clubbangian-Chainclangian Islands, sir, where dead oxen attack living men. _Dem._ Modo pol percepi, Libane, quid istuc sit loci: ubi fit polenta, te fortasse dicere. (_reflecting, then with a chuckle_) Bless my soul! At last I get your meaning, Libanus--the barley mill[A]: I daresay that’s the place you mention. [Footnote A: Where he might be beaten with ox-hide whips.] _Lib._ Ah, neque hercle ego istuc dico nec dictum volo, teque obsecro hercle, ut quae locutu’s despuas. (_in grotesque terror_) Oh Lord, no! I’m not mentioning that, and I don’t want it mentioned, either, and for the love of heaven, sir, do spit away that word! _Dem._ Fiat, geratur mos tibi. (_spitting_) All right. Anything to humour you. _Lib._ Age, age usque excrea. 40 Go on, sir, go on! Hawk it way up! _Dem._ Etiamne? (_spitting again_) Will that do? _Lib._ Age quaeso hercle usque ex penitis faucibus, etiam amplius. Go on, sir, for God’s sake, way from the bottom of your gullet! (_Demaenetus spits violently_) Farther down still, sir! _Dem._ Nam quo usque? Eh? How far? _Lib._ Usque ad mortem volo. (_half aside_) To the door of death, I hope. _Dem._ Cave sis malam rem. (_angrily_) Kindly look out, my man, look out! _Lib._ Uxoris dico, non tuam. (_hastily_) Your wife’s, sir, I mean, not yours. _Dem._ Dono te ob istuc dictum, ut expers sis metu. (_laughing_) Never fear--for that remark I grant you immunity. _Lib._ Di tibi dent quaecumque optes. And heaven grant you all your prayers, sir. _Dem._ Redde operam mihi. cur hoc ego ex te quaeram? aut cur miniter tibi propterea quod me non scientem feceris? aut cur postremo filio suscenseam, patres ut faciunt ceteri? Now listen to me for a change. Why should I ask you about this? Or threaten you because you haven’t informed me? Or for that matter, why should I fly into a rage at my son, as other fathers do? _Lib._ Quid istuc novi est? 50 demiror quid sit et quo evadat sum in metu. (_aside_) Hm! What’s this surprise? Wonder what it means! Where it will end is what scares me. _Dem._ Equidem scio iam, filius quod amet meus istanc meretricem e proxumo Philaenium. estne hoc ut dico, Libane? As a matter of fact, I know already that my son has an affair with that wench, Philaenium, next door. Isn’t that so, Libanus? _Lib._ Rectam instas viam. ea res est. sed eum morbus invasit gravis. You’re on the right track, sir. That’s how it is. But he has suffered a severe shock. _Dem._ Quid morbi est? Shock? What? _Lib._ Quia non suppetunt dictis data. Well, his presents are falling short of his promises. _Dem._