A poem my grandfather knew

When I was little, my grandfather often took care of me, and he used to teach me rhymes. This one is one I can't find anywhere online, so I thought I'd share it with you. This is from memory, so there may be mistakes.
(I had to look up what "famille vert" and the rest might be. He pronounced it "famai", not "famee" like the French do.)

I went to dine with a friend of mine who dined off porcelain plate,
of a kind so rare it turned one's hair to think of their possible fate:
for some were Ming and some were Ching, whatever those names may be,
and the food was divine, and-- ah!-- the wine intoxicated me.
There were ices, those on famille rose, and coffee on famille noire,
and a choice dessert on famille verte preceded a fine cigar.
But alas for the end of the dinner, my friend! for he happened his eyes to raise
as I started to rub the burning stub on a bit of his finest glaze!
He was awfully nice, but as cold as ice, as he rang for my coat and hat,
for Ming is a thing-- and so is Ching!-- that mustn't be used for that!