“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: See here a maukin, there a sheet, As spotless pure as it is sweet: The horses, mares, and frisking fillies, Clad all in linen white as lilies. The harvest swains and wenches bound For joy, to see the hock-cart crowned. About the cart, hear how the rout Of rural younglings raise the shout; Pressing before, some coming after, Those with a shout, and these with laughter. Some bless the cart, some kiss the sheaves, Some prank them up with oaken leaves: Some cross the fill-horse, some with great Devotion stroke the home-borne wheat: While other rustics, less attent To prayers than to merriment, Run after with their breeches rent. 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 sev'ral 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 fats, Then to the maids with wheaten hats: To the rough sickle, and crook'd scythe, Drink, frolic boys, till all be blithe. Feed, and grow fat; and as ye eat Be mindful that the lab'ring neat, As you, may have their fill of meat. And know, besides, ye must revoke The patient ox unto the yoke, And all go back unto the plough And harrow, though they're hanged up now. And, you must know, your lord's word's true, Feed him ye must, whose food fills you; And that this pleasure is like rain, Not sent ye for to drown your pain, But for to make it spring again.”
A cook of roughly the same moment, setting down the same dish.
[79] ANOTHER WAY, MASHED _CUCURBITAS FRICTAS TRITAS_ FRIED [1] PUMPKIN, SEASONED WITH PEPPER, LOVAGE, CUMIN, ORIGANY, ONION, WINE BROTH AND OIL: STEW THE PUMPKIN [in this] IN A BAKING DISH, TIE THE LIQUID WITH ROUX [mash] AND SERVE IN THE DISH. [1] V. Baking the fruit reduces the water contents, renders the purée more substantial. G.-V. _Tritas_--mashed. Tor. connects _tritas_ up with pepper, hence it is doubtful whether this dish of pumpkin is mashed pumpkin.
Sources: The passage is from Robert Herrick, The Hesperides & Noble Numbers: Vol. 1 and 2, free to read in full at Project Gutenberg. The recipe is from Apicius, Cookery and Dining in Imperial Rome, also free in full. Both are in the public domain in the United States. The binding above is ours — burgundy cloth, pudding stamp.