The pounded yellow of two well-boil’d eggs.
Let onion’s atoms lurk within the bowl,
And, scarce suspected, animate the whole;
And, lastly, in the flavour’d compound toss
A magic spoonful of anchovy sauce.
Oh! great and glorious, and herbaceous treat,
’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.”