To make this condiment your poet begs
The pounded yellow of two hard-boil'd eggs;Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen seive,Smoothness and softness to the salad give.Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl,And, half-suspected, animate the whole.Of mordant mustard add a single spoon,Distrust the condiment that bites so soon;But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a faultTo add a double quantity of salt;Four times the spoon with oil of Lucca crown,And twice with vinegar procur'd from town;And lastly o'er the flavour'd compound tossA magic soupçon of anchovy sauce.Oh, green and glorious! Oh, herbaceous treat!Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat;Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul,And plunge his fingers in the salad-bowl!Serenely full, the epicure would say,`Fate cannot harm me, I have dined today.'
