And to Paris we'll fly, and at Bignon's we'll fare,
And the evening we'll spend at the Menus-Plaisirs!
Though Tortoni's no more, we may still taste of joy,
For I wot of a house where a goddess might eat—
Where the palate's not worried, the dishes don't cloy,
Where to eat is to live, and to drink is a treat!
Behold, Mayonnaise, I'm the slave of thy wishes—
A lover devoted who cannot do less
Than to set on thy table the daintiest dishes;
So the man thou mayst love, while the cook thou dost bless.