I said:-- EGO.

"'What a great Poet, Sire; but what a bad gardener!' KING.

"'Ah, to whom do you tell that! Have not I tried to plant, sow, till, dig, with the GEORGICS in my hand?
"But, Monsieur," said my man, "you are a fool (BETE), and your Book no less; it is not in that way one goes to work." Ah, MON DIEU, what a climate! Would you believe it, Heaven, or the Sun, refuse me everything?
Look at my poor orange-trees, my olive-trees, lemon-trees: they are all starving.' EGO.

"'It would appear, then, nothing but laurels flourish with you, Sire.' (The King gave me a charming look; and to cover an inane observation by an absurd one, I added quickly:) 'Besides, Sire, there are too many GRENADIERS [means, in French, POMEGRANATES as well as GRENADIERS,--peg of one's little joke!] in this Country; they eat up everything!' The King burst out laughing; for it is only absurdities that cause laughter.
"One day I had turned a plate to see of what, porcelain it was.

'Where do you think it comes from ?' asked the King.
EGO.