Sencer. _Est modus in rebus_, there is mud in the rivers; _sunt certi denique fines_, and certain little fishes. Sir Harry. I warrant you he hath his answer ready. Sir Boniface. _Dii boni boni_. Haringfield. He’ll give you more bones than those to gnaw on, Sir Boniface. Sencer. _Kartere Moosotropos poluphiltate phile poetatis Tes Logikes retoon, ouch elachiste sophoon_. That is as much as to say, in our _materna lingua_, I will make you, Sir Boniface, confess yourself an ass in English, speak open and broad words, for want of Latin, and _denique_ entreat me to resolve such questions as I shall ask you in our modern tongue. Sir Harry. Confess himself an ass? speak obscene words? After entreat thee to resolve thy questions? Do that; possess the place. Sencer. _Di do_ and _dum_: no more words but _mum_: Sir Boniface. Noble Sir Harry, _numquam sic possit_? Sir Harry. Sir Boniface is sick already and calls for a posset; no marvel, being so threatened. Sencer. You, Boniface, decline me I am a no after the first conjugation, _amo amavi, vocito vocitavi, Titubo Titubavi_? Sir Boniface. I am not the preceptor to a pupil, But can decline it; mark, Sir Timothy. I am a no. Sencer. _Bene bene_. Sir Boniface. I am an as. Sencer. Most true, most true, _vos estis, ut ego sum testis_, that what he confessed is as true as the _pestis_. Sir Harry. This scholar works by magic; he hath made him confess himself an ass. Sir Boniface. _Per has meas manus, vir, tu es insanus_. Sencer. I’ll make him fret worse yet. Sir Boniface, _quid est grammatica_? Sir Boniface. _Grammatica est ars_. Sir Harry. Fie, fie! no more of these words, good Sir Boniface. Sencer. Attend again, proceed me with this verse of reverend Cato: _Si deus est animus_. Sir Boniface. _Nobis ut carmina dicunt_. Taber. Di---- quotha! out on him for a beastly man! Sir Harry. I would not have him teach my children so for more than I am worth. Sir Boniface. O! but reverend Sir Harry, you must _subaudi_. Sir Harry. I’ll never be so bawdy whilst I live, nor any of mine, I hope. Sir Boniface. O! _Propria quæ maribus_. Sir Harry. Ay, Boniface, it is those marrow-bones That make you talk so broadly! Sir Boniface. _Venerabilis vir, homo ille est ebrius_. Sir Harry. What doth he mean by that? Sencer. He saith I can speak Hebrew. Sir Harry. I believe’t: But if Sir Boniface still con these lessons, He’ll speak the French tongue perfect. Sencer. Now to the last; I’ll task Sir Boniface But with an easy question. Tell me, sir, What’s Latin for this earth? Sir Boniface. Facile and easy, more fit for the pupil than the preceptor. What’s Latin for this earth? _Tellus_. Sencer. Tell you? no, sir, it belongs to you to tell me. Sir Boniface. I say _tellus_ is Latin for the earth.