Look, look a mouse!
Peace, peace;—this piece of toasted cheese will do it.
And Sydney Smith's:
Old friendships are destroyed by toasted cheese, and hard salted meat has led to suicide.
But Rhys Davis in My Wales makes up for such rudenesses:
The Welsh Enter Heaven
The Lord had been complaining to St. Peter of the dearth of good singers in Heaven. "Yet," He said testily, "I hear excellent singing outside the walls. Why are not those singers here with me?"
St. Peter said, "They are the Welsh. They refuse to come in; they say they are happy enough outside, playing with a ball and boxing and singing such songs as 'Suspan Fach'"
The Lord said, "I wish them to come in here to sing Bach and Mendelssohn. See that they are in before sundown."
St. Peter went to the Welsh and gave them the commands of the Lord. But still they shook their heads. Harassed, St. Peter went to consult with St. David, who, with a smile, was reading the works of Caradoc Evans.
St. David said, "Try toasted cheese. Build a fire just inside the gates and get a few angels to toast cheese in front of it" This St. Peter did. The heavenly aroma of the sizzling, browning cheese was wafted over the walls and, with loud shouts, a great concourse of the Welsh came sprinting in. When sufficient were inside to make up a male voice choir of a hundred, St Peter slammed the gates. However, it is said that these are the only Welsh in Heaven.