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But it was all rather provoking to poor hungry Simpkin!

Particularly he was vexed with some little shrill voices from behind a wooden lattice. I think that they were bats, because they always have very small voices – especially in a black frost, when they talk in their sleep, like the Tailor of Gloucester.

They said something mysterious that sounded like —

“Buz, quoth the blue fly; hum, quoth the bee;

Buz and hum they cry, and so do we!"

and Simpkin went away shaking his ears as if he had a bee in his bonnet.