"To make this condiment your poet begs
The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs;
Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve,
Smoothness and softness to the salad give.
Let onion atoms wink within the bowl,
And half suspected, animate the whole;
Of mordant mustard, add a single spoon,
(Distrust the condiment that bites too soon),
But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault,
To add a double quantity of salt.
Four times the spoon with oil of Lucca crown,
And twice with vinegar, procured from town;
And lastly, o'er the favoured compound toss
A magic _soupçon_ of anchovy sauce.
Oh, green and glorious! Oh, herbaceous treat!
'T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat!
Back to the world would turn his fleeting soul,
To plunge his fingers in a salad bowl!
Serenely full, the epicure would say,
'Fate cannot harm me,--I have dined to-day.'"