Up, and with Balty to St. James’s, and there presented him to Mr. Wren about his being Muster-Master this year, which will be done. So up to wait on the Duke of York, and thence, with W. Coventry, walked to White Hall good discourse about the Navy, where want of money undoes us. Thence to the Harp and Ball I to drink, and so to the Coffee-house in Covent Garden; but met with nobody but Sir Philip Howard, who shamed me before the whole house there, in commendation of my speech in Parliament, and thence I away home to dinner alone, my wife being at her tailor’s, and after dinner comes Creed, whom I hate, to speak with me, and before him comes Mrs. Daniel about business … She gone, Creed and I to the King’s playhouse, and saw an act or two of the new play [“Evening’s Love”] again, but like it not. Calling this day at Herringman’s, he tells me Dryden do himself call it but a fifth-rate play. Thence with him to my Lord Brouncker’s, where a Council of the Royall Society; and there heard Mr. Harry Howard’s noble offers about ground for our College, and his intentions of building his own house there most nobly. My business was to meet Mr. Boyle, which I did, and discoursed about my eyes; and he did give me the best advice he could, but refers me to one Turberville, of Salsbury, lately come to town, which I will go to. Thence home, where the streets full, at our end of the town, removing their wine against the Act begins, which will be two days hence, to raise the price. I did get my store in of Batelier this night. So home to supper and to bed.
A new diary entry appears here at the end of each day.
(Lord’s day). Up, and to church, and home and dined with my wife and Deb. alone, but merry and in good humour, which is, when all is done, the greatest felicity of all, and after dinner she to read in the “Illustre Bassa” the plot of yesterday’s play, which is most exactly the same, and so to church I alone, and thence to see Sir W. Pen, who is ill again, and then home, and there get my wife to read to me till supper, and then to bed.
Up, and talked with my wife all in good humour, and so to the office, where all the morning, and then home to dinner, and so she and I alone to the King’s house, and there I saw this new play my wife saw yesterday, and do not like it, it being very smutty, and nothing so good as “The Maiden Queen,” or “The Indian Emperour,” of his making, that I was troubled at it; and my wife tells me wholly (which he confesses a little in the epilogue) taken out of the “Illustre Bassa.” So she to Unthanke’s and I to Mr. Povy, and there settled some business; and here talked of things, and he thinks there will be great revolutions, and that Creed will be a great man, though a rogue, he being a man of the old strain, which will now be up again.
So I took coach, and set Povy down at Charing Cross, and took my wife up, and calling at the New Exchange at Smith’s shop, and kissed her pretty hand, and so we home, and there able to do nothing by candlelight, my eyes being now constantly so bad that I must take present advice or be blind.
So to supper, grieved for my eyes, and to bed.
When between two and three in the morning we were waked with my maids crying out, “Fire, fire, in Markelane!” So I rose and looked out, and it was dreadful; and strange apprehensions in me, and us all, of being presently burnt. So we all rose; and my care presently was to secure my gold, and plate, and papers, and could quickly have done it, but I went forth to see where it was; and the whole town was presently in the streets; and I found it in a new-built house that stood alone in Minchin-lane, over against the Cloth-workers’-hall, which burned furiously: the house not yet quite finished; and the benefit of brick was well seen, for it burnt all inward, and fell down within itself; so no fear of doing more hurt. So homeward, and stopped at Mr. Mills’s, where he and she at the door, and Mrs. Turner, and Betty, and Mrs. Hollworthy, and there I stayed and talked, and up to the church leads, and saw the fire, which spent itself, till all fear over. I home, and there we to bed again, and slept pretty well, and about nine rose, and then my wife fell into her blubbering again, and at length had a request to make to me, which was, that she might go into France, and live there, out of trouble; and then all come out, that I loved pleasure and denied her any, and a deal of do; and I find that there have been great fallings out between my father and her, whom, for ever hereafter, I must keep asunder, for they cannot possibly agree. And I said nothing, but, with very mild words and few, suffered her humour to spend, till we begun to be very quiet, and I think all will be over, and friends, and so I to the office, where all the morning doing business. Yesterday I heard how my Lord Ashly is like to die, having some imposthume in his breast, that he hath been fain to be cut into the body.1
At noon home to dinner, and thence by coach to White Hall, where we attended the Duke of York in his closet, upon our usual business. And thence out, and did see many of the Knights of the Garter, with the King and Duke of York, going into the Privychamber, to elect the Elector of Saxony into that Order, who, I did hear the Duke of York say, was a good drinker: I know not upon what score this compliment is done him. Thence with W. Pen, who is in great pain of the gowte, by coach round by Holborne home, he being at every kennel —[?? D.W.]— full of pain. Thence home, and by and by comes my wife and Deb. home, have been at the King’s playhouse to-day, thinking to spy me there; and saw the new play, “Evening Love,” of Dryden’s, which, though the world commends, she likes not. So to supper and talk, and all in good humour, and then to bed, where I slept not well, from my apprehensions of some trouble about some business of Mr. Povy’s he told me of the other day.
Up betimes and to the office, there to set my papers in order and books, my office having been new whited and windows made clean, and so to sit, where all the morning, and did receive a hint or two from my Lord Anglesey, as if he thought much of my taking the ayre as I have done; but I care not a turd; but whatever the matter is, I think he hath some ill-will to me, or at least an opinion that I am more the servant of the Board than I am. At noon home to dinner, where my wife still in a melancholy, fusty humour, and crying, and do not tell me plainly what it is; but I by little words find that she hath heard of my going to plays, and carrying people abroad every day, in her absence; and that I cannot help but the storm will break out, I think, in a little time. After dinner carried her by coach to St. James’s, where she sat in the coach till I to my Lady Peterborough’s, who tells me, among other things, her Lord’s good words to the Duke of York lately, about my Lord Sandwich, and that the Duke of York is kind to my Lord Sandwich, which I am glad to hear: my business here was about her Lord’s pension from Tangier. Here met with Povy, who tells me how hard Creed is upon him, though he did give him, about six months since, I think he said, fifty pieces in gold; and one thing there is in his accounts that I fear may touch me, but I shall help it, I hope. So my wife not speaking a word, going nor coming, nor willing to go to a play, though a new one, I to the Office, and did much business. At night home, where supped Mr. Turner and his wife, and Betty and Mercer and Pelling, as merry as the ill, melancholy humour that my wife was in, would let us, which vexed me; but I took no notice of it, thinking that will be the best way, and let it wear away itself.
After supper, parted, and to bed; and my wife troubled all night, and about one o’clock goes out of the bed to the girl’s bed, which did trouble me, she crying and sobbing, without telling the cause. By and by she comes back to me, and still crying; I then rose, and would have sat up all night, but she would have me come to bed again; and being pretty well pacified, we to sleep.
|Rose, and paying the reckoning,||12s. 6d.|
|servants and poor,||2s. 6d.|
|musick, the worst we have had, coming to our chamber-door, but calling us by wrong names, we lay.|
So set out with one coach in company, and through Maydenhead, which I never saw before, to Colebrooke by noon; the way mighty good; and there dined, and fitted ourselves a little to go through London, anon. Somewhat out of humour all day, reflecting on my wife’s neglect of things, and impertinent humour got by this liberty of being from me, which she is never to be trusted with; for she is a fool.
Thence pleasant way to London, before night, and find all very well, to great content; and there to talk with my wife, and saw Sir W. Pen, who is well again. I hear of the ill news by the great fire at Barbados.
By and by home, and there with my people to supper, all in pretty good humour, though I find my wife hath something in her gizzard, that only waits an opportunity of being provoked to bring up; but I will not, for my content-sake, give it. So I to bed, glad to find all so well here, and slept well.
[The rough notes end here.]
|So paying the reckoning,||14s. 4d.|
|set out; and overtook one coach and kept a while company with it, till one of our horses losing a shoe,|
|we stopped and drank and spent||1s.|
|So on, and passing through a good part of this county of Wiltshire, saw a good house of Alexander Popham’s, and another of my Lord Craven’s, I think in Barkeshire. Come to Newbery, and there dined, which cost me, and musick, which a song of the old courtier of Queen Elizabeth’s, and how he was changed upon the coming in of the King, did please me mightily,|
|and I did cause W. Hewer to write it out,||3s. 6d.|
|Then comes the reckoning, forced to change gold,||8s. 7d.|
|servants and poor,||1s. 6d.|
|So out, and lost our way, which made me vexed, but come into it again; and in the evening betimes come to Reading, and there heard my wife read more of “Mustapha,” and then to supper, and then I to walk about the town, which is a very great one, I think bigger than Salsbury: a river runs through it, in seven branches, and unite in one, in one part of the town, and runs into the Thames half-a-mile off one odd sign of the Broad Face. W. Hewer troubled with the headake we had none of his company last night, nor all this day nor night to talk. Then to my inn, and so to bed.|