What with fillets of roses and fillets of veal,
Things garni with lace, and things garni with eel,
One’s hair and one’s cutlets both en popillote,
And a thousand more things I shall ne’er have by rote,
I can scarce tell the diff’rence, at least as to phrase,
Between beef à la Psyche and curls à la braise.—
But, in short, dear, I’m trick’d out quite à la Française,
With my bonnet—so beautiful!—high up and poking,
Like things that are put to keep chimneys from smoking.
Where shall I begin with the endless delights