Sunday 25 September 1664
(Lord’s day). Up, and my throat being yet very sore, and, my head out of order, we went not to church, but I spent all the morning reading of “The Madd Lovers,” a very good play, and at noon comes Harman and his wife, whom I sent for to meet the Joyces, but they came not. It seems Will has got a fall off his horse and broke his face.
However, we were as merry as I could in their company, and we had a good chine of beef, but I had no taste nor stomach through my cold, and therefore little pleased with my dinner.
It raining, they sat talking with us all the afternoon. So anon they went away; and then I to read another play, “The Custome of the Country,” which is a very poor one, methinks. Then to supper, prayers, and bed.
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