It will be noted how meat, game, and fish-pies prevail, with tarts, marrow-bones, and neat's-tongues as secondary dishes. The roast swan, if a cygnet, may have been rather appetising, but one would feel more secure to leave the lamprey-pie untasted, and allow the "botargo" to be passed on to a neighbour. The salmon-pie, likewise, has an indigestible sound, especially as there are no signs of any Chablis or hock to serve as an antidote. Of course, the virtues of the carp would depend entirely on the sauce, and carp sauces of those days must have been anything but assuring. The "Diary" of Mr. Pepys says nothing of the mornings after his dinners--the true test of a generous repast. It is just as well, therefore, for the reader who has the welfare of his stomach to consider, not to dream of having dined with Pepys or his friends, or to attempt to vie with him in "claret" and "good cheer." Far more simple, though by no means meagre, was the diet of the rural population. In place of lobsters and fricassees with sack and muscadel, bread, the roast of beef, mutton, and veal, and sound home-brewed ale went to the making of strength and endurance. In the country, the hay-harvest, sheep-shearing, and the wheat-harvest were always occasions for special festivity, where master and men jointly celebrated the fruits of their toil in the fields. Of all such celebrations the Hock-Cart or Harvest-Home, when the last sheaf of wheat had been garnered, was the most prolific of feasting and merrymaking--a festival which is well described by Herrick, with its attendant bill of fare: "Come, sons of summer, by whose toil, We are the lords of wine and oil; By whose tough labours and rough hands, We rip up first, then reap our lands. Crowned with the ears of corn, now come, And to the pipe sing harvest home. Come forth, my lord, and see the cart Dressed up with all the country art.... Well on, brave boys, to your lord's hearth, Glitt'ring with fire, where, for your mirth, Ye shall see first the large and chief Foundation of your feast, fat beef; With upper stories, mutton, veal, And bacon which makes full the meal, With several dishes standing by, As here a custard, there a pie, And here all-tempting frumenty. And for to make the merry cheer, If smirking wine be wanting here, There's that which drowns all care, stout beer, Which freely drink to your lord's health, Then to the plough (the commonwealth), Next to your flails, your fans, your vats; Then to the maids with wheaten hats; To the rough sickle, and the crook'd scythe, Drink, frolic boys, till all be blythe...."