Angling with a minikin, a gut-string varnished over
Better now than never
Bring me a periwig, but it was full of nits
Buying up of goods in case there should be war
For I will not be inward with him that is open to another
He is a man of no worth in the world but compliment
History of this day's growth, we cannot tell the truth
I love the treason I hate the traitor
King of France did think other princes fit for nothing
My wife will keep to one another and let the world go hang
No man knowing what to do, whether to sell or buy
Not more than I expected, nor so much by a great deal as I ought
Now above six months since (smoke from the cellars)
Reparation for what we had embezzled
Uncertainty of all history
Whatever I do give to anybody else, I shall give her