The Welshman, he loved toasted cheese,
And made his mouth like a mousetrap.

The Irishman was drowned in usquebaugh,
The Scot was drowned in ale,
The Welshman he near swallowed a mouse
But he pulled it out by the tail.

And, perhaps worst of all, Shakespeare, no cheese-lover, this tune in
_Merry Wives of Windsor_:

'Tis time I were choked by a bit of toasted cheese.

An elaboration of the simple Welsh original went English with Dr.
William Maginn, the London journalist whose facile pen enlivened the
_Blackwoods Magazine_ era with _Ten Tales_:

[Illustration] Dr. Maginn's Rabbit

Much is to be said in favor of toasted cheese for supper. It is
the cant to say that Welsh rabbit is heavy eating. I like it best
in the genuine Welsh way, however--that is, the toasted bread
buttered on both sides profusely, then a layer of cold roast beef
with mustard and horseradish, and then, on the top of all, the
superstratum, of Cheshire _thoroughly_ saturated, while, in the
process of toasting, with genuine porter, black pepper, and
shallot vinegar. I peril myself upon the assertion that this is
not a heavy supper for a man who has been busy all day till
dinner in reading, writing, walking or riding--who has occupied
himself between dinner and supper in the discussion of a bottle