e rubs stone, sir?

_Dem._

Quid istuc est? aut ubi istuc est terrarum loci?[2] (32)

What do you mean? Where in the world is that?

_Lib._

Apud fustitudinas, ferricrepinas insulas, (34)
ubi vivos homines mortui incursant boves.

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