He sent express to fetch the clown,
And thus address'd him with a frown:
"These eggs, this bacon, that you sent,
For Christian food were never meant;
As soon I'll think the moon's a cheese,
As those you dress'd the same with these.
Little I thought"—"Sir," says the peasant,
"I'm glad your worship is so pleasant:
You joke, I'm sure: for I can swear,
The same the fowls that laid them are!