And will not kiss a woman since his wife's death
Beating of a poor little dog to death, letting it lie
City to be burned, and the Papists to cut our throats
Disorder in the pit by its raining in, from the cupola
Down to the Whey house and drank some and eat some curds
Eat some butter and radishes
Little company there, which made it very unpleasing
So time do alter, and do doubtless the like in myself
There setting a poor man to keep my place
Whom I find in bed, and pretended a little not well