Bianc. Why gentlemen, you doe me double wrong,
To striue for that which resteth in my choice:
I am no breeching scholler in the schooles,
Ile not be tied to howres, nor pointed times,
But learne my Lessons as I please my selfe,
And to cut off all strife: heere sit we downe,
Take you your instrument, play you the whiles,
His Lecture will be done ere you haue tun'd
Hort. You'll leaue his Lecture when I am in tune?
Luc. That will be neuer, tune your instrument
Bian. Where left we last?
Luc. Heere Madam: Hic Ibat Simois, hic est sigeria
tellus, hic steterat Priami regia Celsa senis
Bian. Conster them
Luc. Hic Ibat, as I told you before, Simois, I am Lucentio, hic est, sonne vnto Vincentio of Pisa, Sigeria tellus, disguised thus to get your loue, hic steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing, priami, is my man Tranio, regia, bearing my port, celsa senis that we might beguile the old Pantalowne
Hort. Madam, my Instrument's in tune
Bian. Let's heare, oh fie, the treble iarres
Luc. Spit in the hole man, and tune againe
Bian. Now let mee see if I can conster it. Hic ibat simois, I know you not, hic est sigeria tellus, I trust you not, hic staterat priami, take heede he heare vs not, regia presume not, Celsa senis, despaire not
Hort. Madam, tis now in tune