''Two boiled potatoes strained through a kitchen sieve,
''Softness and smoothness to the salad give;
''Of mordant mustard take a single spoon,
''Distrust the condiment that bites too soon!
''Yet deem it not, thou man of taste, 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;
''True taste requires it and your poet begs
''The pounded yellow of two well-boiled eggs.
''Let onion's atoms lurk within the bowl
''And, scarce suspected, animate the whole,
''And lastly in the flavoured compound toss
''A magic spoonful of anchovy sauce.
''Oh, great and glorious! Oh, herbaceous meat!
'''Twould tempt the dying Anchorite to eat,
''Back to the world he'd turn his weary soul
''And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl.''