Though you tie up the winds in pudding bags,
And into soufflées whip the yesty waves—
Compound and swallow all creation up—
Even till repletion sicken, answer me
To what I ask you.
Soy.— Parlez.
2nd Cook.— Ask.
3rd Cook.— Cut on.
Soy.—Say would’st thou rather hear it from our mouths,
Or from our platters?