With faces ruddied by the leaping flame,
The eager, hungry onion-eaters came.
Large roots they bore of that full-flavour’d stem,
Of pungent taste and odour. These they gave
To Cook, who gladly did receive of them.
With careful hands these roots she well did lave
In pure spring water’s clear and limpid wave;
Then toss’d them in the pot, a stew to make.
’Tis for this mess the greedy gluttons crave;
The echoes with their eager cries they wake,—