Perdrix, toujours Perdrix

Too much of the same thing. Walpole tells us that the confessor of one of the French kings reproved him for conjugal infidelity, and was asked by the king what he liked best. “Partridge,” replied the priest, and the king ordered him to be served with partridge every day, till he quite loathed the sight of his favourite dish. After a time, the king visited him, and hoped he had been well served, when the confessor replied, “Mais oui, perdrix, toujours perdrix.” “Ah! ah!” replied the amorous monarch, “and one mistress is all very well, but not ‘perdrix, toujours perdrix.ʹ”