_Quaint._ My Business, Sir, with every Man, is first of all to do him Service. _Esop._ And your next is, I suppose, to be paid for't twice as much as 'tis worth. _Quaint._ Your Honour's most obedient humble Servant. _Esop._ Well, Sir, but upon what Account am I going to be oblig'd to you? _Quaint._ Sir, I'm a Genealogist. _Esop._ A Genealogist! _Quaint._ At your Service, Sir. _Esop._ So, Sir? _Quaint._ Sir, I am inform'd from common Fame, as well as from some little private familiar Intelligence, that your Wisdom is ent'ring into Treaty with the _Primum Mobilè_ of Good and Evil, a fine Lady. I have travell'd, Sir; I have read, Sir; I have consider'd, Sir; and I find, Sir, that the Nature of a fine Lady is to be----a fine Lady, Sir; a fine Lady's a fine Lady, Sir, all the World over;----she loves a fine House, fine Furniture, fine Clothes, fine Liveries, fine Petticoats, fine Smocks; and if she stops there--she's a fine Lady indeed, Sir. But to come to my Point. It being the _Lydian_ Custom, that the fair Bride should be presented on her Wedding-day with something that may signify the Merit and the Worth of her dread Lord and Master, I thought the noble _Esop_'s Pedigree might be the welcom'st Gift that he could offer. If his Honour be of the same Opinion--I'll speak a bold Word--there's ne'er a Herald in all _Asia_ shall put better Blood in his Veins, than--Sir, your humble Servant, _Jacob Quaint_. _Esop._ Dost thou then know my Father, Friend? For I protest to thee I am a Stranger to him. _Quaint._ Your Father, Sir? Ha, ha! I know every Man's Father, Sir; and every Man's Grandfather, and every Man's Great Grandfather. Why, Sir, I'm a Herald by Nature, my Mother was a _Welchwoman_. _Esop._ A _Welchwoman_? Pr'ythee of what Country is that? _Quaint._ That, Sir, is a Country in the World's Backside, where every Man is born a Gentleman and a Genealogist. Sir, I cou'd tell my Mother's Pedigree before I could speak plain; which, to shew you the Depth of my Art, and the Strength of my Memory, I'll trundle you down in an instant. _Noah_ had three Sons, _Shem_, _Ham_, and _Japhet_; _Shem_---- _Esop._ Hold, I conjure thee, in the Name of all thy Ancestors. _Quaint._ Sir, I cou'd take it higher, but I begin at Noah for brevity's sake. _Esop._ No more on't, I intreat thee. _Quaint._ Your Honour's impatient, perhaps, to hear your own Descent. _A Word to the wise is enough._ Hem, hem! _Solomon_, the wise King of _Judea_---- _Esop._ Hold, once more! _Quaint._ Ha, ha! Your Honour's modest, but----_Solomon_, the wise King of _Judea_---- _Esop._ Was my Ancestor, was he not? _Quaint._ He was, my Lord, which no one sure can doubt, who observes how much of Prince there hangs about you. _Esop._ What! Is't in my Mien? _Quaint._ You have something----wondrous noble in your Air. _Esop._ Personable too; view me well. _Quaint._ N----not Tall; but Majestick. _Esop._ My Shape? _Quaint._ A World of Symmetry in it. _Esop._ The Lump upon my Back?