Three measured spoonfuls first of purest Oil
The flask must yield—the growth of Lucca’s soil;

These first with Salt the knowing artist blends,

(On this the union of the whole depends)

Then pungent Mustard add, then acid Wine;

And thus, the adverse fluids so combine,

No oily spots the keenest eye may note,

That on the homogenous liquid float.

Now Cayenne’s generous warmth I add; and now

Of macey essence half a drop allow.

Now bring the Lobster o’er whose shell is spread

The mottled white amid the darkest red;

Crack well the crooked claw, and slit the tail,

And tear the thorax from its solid mail;

Extract the pulp, the coral too divide,

And place them all in order by my side.

Now the crisp Lettuce in the bowl I shred,

(Blanched Endive serves in winter in its stead;

Nor then the snowy Celery disdain);

Now from the Tyrrhene wave Anchovies twain

I add; and Gherkins slice, and buds of Caper rain.

With these alternately the fish I spread,

And mingle with the white the coral’s red;

And solid egg in even slices lay,

In which round yellow orbs, white circles play;

Again the blended fluid in I throw,

And join, at last, the Beet-root’s crimson glow.