Men. Well, why?
Nuñ. For fear of being starved—which would be a bad job for the king’s service.
Men. God rest my father’s soul, says I, who left me a pedigree and patent all blazon’d in gold and azure, that exempts me from such impositions.
Nuñ. I wish he’d left you the gold in a more available shape, however.
Men. Though indeed when I come to think of it, I don’t know if I owe him any thanks; considering that unless he had consented to beget me an Hidalgo at once, I wouldn’t have been born at all, for him or any one.
Nuñ. Humph! Could you have help’d it?
Men. Easily.
Nuñ. How, sir?
Men. You must know that every one that is born is the essence of the food his parents eat.
Nuñ. Oh! Your parents did eat then, sir? You have not inherited that of them, at all events.