In Addison's Anecdotes, stating, that about the beginning of the
eighteenth century, when it was more the fashion to drink ale at
Oxford than at present, a humorous fellow of merry memory established
an ale-house near the pound, and wrote over his door, "Ale sold by the
pound!" As his ale was as good as his jokes, the Oxonians resorted to
his house in great numbers, and sometimes stayed there beyond the
college hours. This was made a matter of complaint to the
Vice-Chancellor, who was desired to take away his license by one of
the Proctors. Boniface was summoned to attend accordingly, and when he
came into the Vice-Chancellor's presence, he began hawking and
spitting about the room. This the Vice-Chancellor observed, and asked
what he meant by it? "Please your worship," said he, "I came here on
purpose to clear myself." The Vice-Chancellor imagining that he
actually _weighed his ale_, said, "They tell me you sell ale by the
pound; is that true?" "No, an' please your worship." "How do you,
then?" "Very well, I thank you, sir," said the wag, "how do you do?"
The Vice-Chancellor laughed and said, "Get away for a rogue; I'll say
no more to you." The fellow went out, but in crossing the _quod_ met
the proctor who had laid the information against him. "Sir," said he,
addressing the Proctor, "the Vice-Chancellor wants to speak with you,"
and they went to the Vice-Chancellor's together. "Here he is, sir,"
said Boniface, as they entered the presence. "Who?" inquired the Vice.
"Why, sir," he rejoined, "you sent me for a rogue, and I have brought
you the greatest that I know of." The result was, says the author of
_Terræ-Filius_ (who gives a somewhat different version of the
anecdote,) that Boniface paid dear for his _jokes_: being not only
deprived of his license, but committed to prison.
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