August 1st. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon my wife and
I dined at Sir W. Pen’s, only with Mrs. Turner and her husband, on a
damned venison pasty, that stunk like a devil. However, I did not know
it till dinner was done. We had nothing but only this, and a leg of
mutton, and a pullet or two. Mrs. Markham was here, with her great
belly. I was very merry, and after dinner, upon a motion of the women,
I was got to go to the play with them-the first I have seen since before
the Dutch coming upon our coast, and so to the King’s house, to see “The
Custome of the Country.” The house mighty empty--more than ever I saw
it--and an ill play. After the play, we into the house, and spoke with
Knipp, who went abroad with us by coach to the Neat Houses in the way to
Chelsy; and there, in a box in a tree, we sat and sang, and talked and
eat; my wife out of humour, as she always is, when this woman is by.
So, after it was dark, we home. Set Knepp down at home, who told us the
story how Nell is gone from the King’s house, and is kept by my Lord
Buckhurst. Then we home, the gates of the City shut, it being so late:
and at Newgate we find them in trouble, some thieves having this night
broke open prison. So we through, and home; and our coachman was fain to
drive hard from two or three fellows, which he said were rogues, that
he met at the end of Blow-bladder Street, next Cheapside. So set Mrs.
Turner home, and then we home, and I to the Office a little; and so home
and to bed, my wife in an ill humour still.
2nd. Up, but before I rose my wife fell into angry discourse of my
kindness yesterday to Mrs. Knipp, and leading her, and sitting in the
coach hand in hand, and my arm about her middle, and in some bad words
reproached me with it. I was troubled, but having much business in my
head and desirous of peace rose and did not provoke her. So she up and
come to me and added more, and spoke basely of my father, who I perceive
did do something in the country, at her last being there, that did not
like her, but I would not enquire into anything, but let her talk, and
when ready away to the Office I went, where all the morning I was,
only Mr. Gawden come to me, and he and I home to my chamber, and there
reckoned, and there I received my profits for Tangier of him, and L250
on my victualling score. He is a most noble-minded man as ever I met
with, and seems to own himself much obliged to me, which I will labour
to make him; for he is a good man also: we talked on many good things
relating to the King’s service, and, in fine, I had much matter of joy
by this morning’s work, receiving above L400 of him, on one account or
other; and a promise that, though I lay down my victualling place, yet,
as long as he continues victualler, I shall be the better by him. To the
office again, and there evened all our business with Mr. Kinaston about
Colonel Norwood’s Bill of Exchange from Tangier, and I am glad of it,
for though he be a good man, yet his importunity tries me. So home to
dinner, where Mr. Hater with me and W. Hewer, because of their being in
the way after dinner, and so to the office after dinner, where and with
my Lord Bruneker at his lodgings all the afternoon and evening making up
our great account for the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, but not
so as pleased me yet. So at 12 at night home to supper and to bed, my
wife being gone in an ill humour to bed before me. This noon my wife
comes to me alone, and tells me she had those upon her and bid me
remember it. I asked her why, and she said she had a reason. I do think
by something too she said to-day, that she took notice that I had not
lain with her this half-year, that she thinks that I have some doubt
that she might be with child by somebody else. Which God knows never
entered into my head, or whether my father observed any thing at
Brampton with Coleman I know not. But I do not do well to let these
beginnings of discontents take so much root between us.
3rd. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. Then at noon to
dinner, and to the office again, there to enable myself, by finishing
our great account, to give it to the Lords Commissioners of the
Treasury; which I did, and there was called in to them, to tell them
only the total of our debt of the Navy on the 25th of May last, which
is above L950,000. Here I find them mighty hot in their answer to the
Council-board about our Treasurer’s threepences of the Victualling, and
also against the present farm of the Customes, which they do most highly
inveigh against. So home again by coach, and there hard to work till
very late and my eyes began to fail me, which now upon very little
overworking them they do, which grieves me much. Late home, to supper,
and to bed.
4th (Lord’s day). Busy at my Office from morning till night, in writing
with my own hand fair our large general account of the expence and debt
of the Navy, which lasted me till night to do, that I was almost blind,
and Mr. Gibson with me all day long, and dined with me, and excellent
discourse I had with him, he understanding all the business of the Navy
most admirably. To walk a little with my wife at night in the garden, it
being very hot weather again, and so to supper and to bed.
5th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten in the morning to St. James’s, where we
did our ordinary business with the Duke of York, where I perceive they
have taken the highest resolution in the world to become good husbands,
and to retrench all charge; and to that end we are commanded to give him
an account of the establishment in the seventh year of the late King’s
reign, and how offices and salaries have been increased since; and I
hope it will end in the taking away some of our Commissioners, though
it may be to the lessening of some of our salaries also. After done
with the Duke of York, and coming out through his dressing-room, I there
spied Signor Francisco tuning his gittar, and Monsieur de Puy with him,
who did make him play to me, which he did most admirably--so well as I
was mightily troubled that all that pains should have been taken upon so
bad an instrument. Walked over the Park with Mr. Gawden, end with him by
coach home, and to the Exchange, where I hear the ill news of our loss
lately of four rich ships, two from Guinea, one from Gallipoly, all with
rich oyles; and the other from Barbadoes, worth, as is guessed, L80,000.
But here is strong talk, as if Harman had taken some of the Dutch
East India ships, but I dare not yet believe it, and brought them into
Lisbon.
[“Sept. 6, 1667. John Clarke to James Hickes. A vessel arrived
from Harwich brings news that the English lost 600 to 700 men in the
attempt on St. Christopher; that Sir John Harman was not then there,
but going with 11 ships, and left a ketch at Barbadoes to bring more
soldiers after him; that the ketch met a French sloop with a packet
from St. Christopher to their fleet at Martinico, and took her,
whereupon Sir John Harman sailed there and fell upon their fleet of
27 sail, 25 of which he sank, and burnt the others, save two which
escaped; also that he left three of his fleet there, and went with
the rest to Nevis, to make another attempt on St. Christopher.
“Calendar of State Payers, 1667, p. 447]
Home, and dined with my wife at Sir W. Pen’s, where a very good pasty
of venison, better than we expected, the last stinking basely, and after
dinner he and my wife and I to the Duke of York’s house, and there saw
“Love Trickes, or the School of Compliments;” a silly play, only Miss
[Davis’s] dancing in a shepherd’s clothes did please us mightily. Thence
without much pleasure home and to my Office, so home, to supper, and to
bed. My wife mighty angry with Nell, who is turned a very gossip, and
gads abroad as soon as our backs are turned, and will put her away
tomorrow, which I am not sorry for.
6th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning very full of business.
A full Board. Here, talking of news, my Lord Anglesey did tell us that
the Dutch do make a further bogle with us about two or three things,
which they will be satisfied in, he says, by us easily; but only in one,
it seems, they do demand that we shall not interrupt their East Indiamen
coming home, and of which they are in some fear; and we are full of
hopes that we have ‘light upon some of them, and carried them into
Lisbon, by Harman; which God send! But they, which do shew the low
esteem they have of us, have the confidence to demand that we shall
have a cessation on our parts, and yet they at liberty to take what they
will; which is such an affront, as another cannot be devised greater. At
noon home to dinner, where I find Mrs. Wood, formerly Bab. Shelden, and
our Mercer, who is dressed to-day in a paysan dress, that looks mighty
pretty. We dined and sang and laughed mighty merry, and then I to the
Office, only met at the door with Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Burroughs, who
I took in and drank with, but was afraid my wife should see them, they
being, especially the first, a prattling gossip, and so after drinking
with them parted, and I to the Office, busy as long as my poor eyes
would endure, which troubles me mightily and then into the garden with
my wife, and to Sir W. Batten’s with [Sir] W. Pen and [Sir] J. Minnes,
and there eat a melon and talked, and so home to supper and to bed.
My wife, as she said last night, hath put away Nell to-day, for her
gossiping abroad and telling of stories. Sir W. Batten did tell
me to-night that the Council have ordered a hearing before them of
Carcasses business, which do vex me mightily, that we should be troubled
so much by an idle rogue, a servant of our own, and all my thoughts
to-night have been how to manage the matter before the Council.
7th. Up, and at the office very busy, and did much business all the
morning. My wife abroad with her maid Jane and Tom all the afternoon,
being gone forth to eat some pasties at “The Bottle of Hay,” in St.
John’s Street, as you go to Islington, of which she is mighty fond, and
I dined at home alone, and at the office close all the afternoon,
doing much business to my great content. This afternoon Mr. Pierce, the
surgeon, comes to me about business, and tells me that though the King
and my Lady Castlemayne are friends again, she is not at White Hall, but
at Sir D. Harvy’s, whither the King goes to her; and he says she made
him ask her forgiveness upon his knees, and promised to offend her no
more so: that, indeed, she did threaten to bring all his bastards to
his closet-door, and hath nearly hectored him out of his wits. I at my
office till night, and then home to my pipe, my wife not coming home,
which vexed me. I then into the garden, and there walked alone in the
garden till 10 at night, when she come home, having been upon the water
and could not get home sooner. So to supper, and to bed.
8th. Up, and all the morning at the office, where busy, and at noon
home to dinner, where Creed dined with us, who tells me that Sir Henry
Bellasses is dead of the duell he fought about ten days ago, with Tom
Porter; and it is pretty to see how the world talk of them as a couple
of fools, that killed one another out of love. After dinner to the
office a while, and then with my wife to the Temple, where I light and
sent her to her tailor’s. I to my bookseller’s; where, by and by, I met
Mr. Evelyn, and talked of several things, but particularly of the times:
and he tells me that wise men do prepare to remove abroad what they
have, for that we must be ruined, our case being past relief, the
kingdom so much in debt, and the King minding nothing but his lust,
going two days a-week to see my Lady Castlemayne at Sir D. Harvy’s. He
gone, I met with Mr. Moore, who tells me that my Lord Hinchingbroke is
now with his mistress, but not that he is married, as W. Howe come and
told us the other day. So by coach to White Hall, and there staid a
little, thinking to see Sir G. Carteret, but missed him, and so by coach
took up my wife, and so home, and as far as Bow, where we staid and
drank, and there, passing by Mr. Lowther and his lady, they stopped and
we talked a little with them, they being in their gilt coach, and so
parted; and presently come to us Mr. Andrews, whom I had not seen a good
while, who, as other merchants do, do all give over any hopes of things
doing well, and so he spends his time here most, playing at bowles.
After dining together at the coach-side, we with great pleasure home,
and so to the office, where I despatched my business, and home to
supper, and to bed.
9th. Up, and betimes with Sir H. Cholmly upon some accounts of Tangier,
and then he and I to Westminster, to Mr. Burges, and then walked in the
Hall, and he and I talked, and he do really declare that he expects that
of necessity this kingdom will fall back again to a commonwealth, and
other wise men are of the same mind: this family doing all that silly
men can do, to make themselves unable to support their kingdom,
minding their lust and their pleasure, and making their government so
chargeable, that people do well remember better things were done, and
better managed, and with much less charge under a commonwealth than they
have been by this King, and do seem to resolve to wind up his businesses
and get money in his hand against the turn do come. After some talk I by
coach and there dined, and with us Mr. Batelier by chance coming in to
speak with me, and when I come home, and find Mr. Goodgroome, my wife’s
singing-master, there I did soundly rattle him for neglecting her so
much as he hath done--she not having learned three songs these three
months and more. After dinner my wife abroad with Mrs. Turner, and I to
the office, where busy all the afternoon, and in the evening by coach to
St. James’s, and there met Sir W. Coventry; and he and I walked in the
Park an hour. And then to his chamber, where he read to me the heads of
the late great dispute between him and the rest of the Commissioners
of the Treasury, and our new Treasurer of the Navy where they have
overthrown him the last Wednesday, in the great dispute touching his
having the payment of the Victualler, which is now settled by Council
that he is not to have it and, indeed, they have been most just, as well
as most severe and bold, in the doing this against a man of his quality;
but I perceive he do really make no difference between any man. He tells
me this day it is supposed the peace is ratified at Bredah, and all that
matter over. We did talk of many retrenchments of charge of the Navy
which he will put in practice, and every where else; though, he tells
me, he despairs of being able to do what ought to be done for the saving
of the kingdom, which I tell him, as indeed all the world is almost in
hopes of, upon the proceeding of these gentlemen for the regulating of
the Treasury, it being so late, and our poverty grown so great, that
they want where to set their feet, to begin to do any thing. He tells me
how weary he hath for this year and a half been of the war; and how in
the Duke of York’s bedchamber, at Christ Church, at Oxford, when the
Court was there, he did labour to persuade the Duke to fling off the
care of the Navy, and get it committed to other hands; which, if he had
done, would have been much to his honour, being just come home with so
much honour from sea as he did. I took notice of the sharp letter he
wrote, which he sent us to read yesterday, to Sir Edward Spragg, where
he is very plain about his leaving his charge of the ships at Gravesend,
when the enemy come last up, and several other things: a copy whereof
I have kept. But it is done like a most worthy man; and he says it is
good, now and then, to tell these gentlemen their duties, for they need
it. And it seems, as he tells me, all our Knights are fallen out one
with another, he, and Jenings, and Hollis, and (his words were) they
are disputing which is the coward among them; and yet men that take the
greatest liberty of censuring others! Here, with him, very late, till I
could hardly get a coach or link willing to go through the ruines; but I
do, but will not do it again, being, indeed, very dangerous. So home
and to supper, and bed, my head most full of an answer I have drawn
this noon to the Committee of the Council to whom Carcasses business is
referred to be examined again.
10th. Up, and to the Office, and there finished the letter about
Carcasse, and sent it away, I think well writ, though it troubles me we
should be put to trouble by this rogue so much. At the office all the
morning, and at noon home to dinner, where I sang and piped with my
wife with great pleasure, and did hire a coach to carry us to Barnett
to-morrow. After dinner I to the office, and there wrote as long as my
eyes would give me leave, and then abroad and to the New Exchange,
to the bookseller’s there, where I hear of several new books coming
out--Mr. Spratt’s History of the Royal Society, and Mrs. Phillips’s’
poems. Sir John Denham’s poems are going to be all printed together;
and, among others, some new things; and among them he showed me a copy
of verses of his upon Sir John Minnes’s going heretofore to Bullogne to
eat a pig.
[The collected edition of Denham’s poems is dated 1668. The verses
referred to are inscribed “To Sir John Mennis being invited from
Calice to Bologne to eat a pig,” and two of the lines run
“Little Admiral John
To Bologne is gone.”]
Cowley, he tells me, is dead; who, it seems, was a mighty civil, serious
man; which I did not know before. Several good plays are likely to
be abroad soon, as Mustapha and Henry the 5th. Here having staid and
divertised myself a good while, I home again and to finish my letters by
the post, and so home, and betimes to bed with my wife because of rising
betimes to-morrow.
11th (Lord’s day). Up by four o’clock, and ready with Mrs. Turner to
take coach before five; which we did, and set on our journey, and got
to the Wells at Barnett by seven o’clock, and there found many people
a-drinking; but the morning is a very cold morning, so as we were very
cold all the way in the coach. Here we met Joseph Batelier, and I talked
with him, and here was W. Hewer also, and his uncle Steventon: so,
after drinking three glasses and the women nothing, we back by coach to
Barnett, where to the Red Lyon, where we ‘light, and went up into the
great Room, and there drank, and eat some of the best cheese-cakes
that ever I eat in my life, and so took coach again, and W. Hewer
on horseback with us, and so to Hatfield, to the inn, next my Lord
Salisbury’s house, and there rested ourselves, and drank, and bespoke
dinner; and so to church, it being just church-time, and there we find
my Lord and my Lady Sands and several fine ladies of the family, and a
great many handsome faces and genteel persons more in the church, and
did hear a most excellent good sermon, which pleased me mightily, and
very devout; it being upon, the signs of saving grace, where it is in
a man, and one sign, which held him all this day, was, that where that
grace was, there is also the grace of prayer, which he did handle very
finely. In this church lies the former Lord of Salisbury, Cecil, buried
in a noble tomb. So the church being done, we to our inn, and there
dined very well, and mighty merry; and as soon as we had dined we walked
out into the Park through the fine walk of trees, and to the Vineyard,
and there shewed them that, which is in good order, and indeed a place
of great delight; which, together with our fine walk through the Park,
was of as much pleasure as could be desired in the world for country
pleasure and good ayre. Being come back, and weary with the walk, for
as I made it, it was pretty long, being come back to our inne, there the
women had pleasure in putting on some straw hats, which are much worn in
this country, and did become them mightily, but especially my wife. So,
after resting awhile, we took coach again, and back to Barnett, where
W. Hewer took us into his lodging, which is very handsome, and there
did treat us very highly with cheesecakes, cream, tarts, and other good
things; and then walked into the garden, which was pretty, and there
filled my pockets full of filberts, and so with much pleasure. Among
other things, I met in this house with a printed book of the Life of O.
Cromwell, to his honour as a soldier and politician, though as a rebell,
the first of that kind that ever I saw, and it is well done. Took coach
again, and got home with great content, just at day shutting in, and
so as soon as home eat a little and then to bed, with exceeding great
content at our day’s work.
12th. My wife waked betimes to call up her maids to washing, and so to
bed again, whom I then hugged, it being cold now in the mornings.... Up
by and by, and with Mr. Gawden by coach to St. James’s, where we find
the Duke gone a-hunting with the King, but found Sir W. Coventry within,
with whom we discoursed, and he did largely discourse with us about our
speedy falling upon considering of retrenchments in the expense of the
Navy, which I will put forward as much as I can. So having done there I
to Westminster Hall to Burges, and then walked to the New Exchange, and
there to my bookseller’s, and did buy Scott’s Discourse of Witches; and
do hear Mr. Cowley mightily lamented his death, by Dr. Ward, the Bishop
of Winchester, and Dr. Bates, who were standing there, as the best poet
of our nation, and as good a man. Thence I to the printseller’s, over
against the Exchange towards Covent Garden, and there bought a few more
prints of cittys, and so home with them, and my wife and maids being
gone over the water to the whitster’s
[A bleacher of linen. “The whitsters of Datchet Mead” are referred
to by Mrs. Ford (“Merry Wives of Windsor,” act iii., sc. 3).]
with their clothes, this being the first time of her trying this way
of washing her linen, I dined at Sir W. Batten’s, and after dinner, all
alone to the King’s playhouse, and there did happen to sit just before
Mrs. Pierce, and Mrs. Knepp, who pulled me by the hair; and so I
addressed myself to them, and talked to them all the intervals of the
play, and did give them fruit. The play is “Brenoralt,” which I do find
but little in, for my part. Here was many fine ladies-among others, the
German Baron, with his lady, who is envoye from the Emperour, and their
fine daughter, which hath travelled all Europe over with them, it seems;
and is accordingly accomplished, and indeed, is a wonderful pretty
woman. Here Sir Philip Frowde, who sat next to me, did tell me how Sir
H. Belasses is dead, and that the quarrel between him and Tom Porter,
who is fled, did arise in the ridiculous fashion that I was first told
it, which is a strange thing between two so good friends. The play being
done, I took the women, and Mrs. Corbett, who was with them, by coach,
it raining, to Mrs. Manuel’s, the Jew’s wife, formerly a player, who
we heard sing with one of the Italians that was there; and, indeed, she
sings mightily well; and just after the Italian manner, but yet do not
please me like one of Mrs. Knepp’s songs, to a good English tune, the
manner of their ayre not pleasing me so well as the fashion of our own,
nor so natural. Here I sat a little and then left them, and then by
coach home, and my wife not come home, so the office a little and then
home, and my wife come; and so, saying nothing where I had been, we to
supper and pipe, and so to bed.
13th. Up, and to the office, where we sat busy all the morning. At noon
home to dinner all alone, my wife being again at the whitster’s. After
dinner with Sir W. Pen to St. James’s, where the rest come and attended
the Duke of York, with our usual business; who, upon occasion, told us
that he did expect this night or to-morrow to hear from Breda of the
consummation of the peace. Thence Sir W. Pen and I to the King’s house,
and there saw “The Committee,” which I went to with some prejudice, not
liking it before, but I do now find it a very good play, and a great
deal of good invention in it; but Lacy’s part is so well performed that
it would set off anything. The play being done, we with great pleasure
home, and there I to the office to finish my letters, and then home to
my chamber to sing and pipe till my wife comes home from her washing,
which was nine at night, and a dark and rainy night, that I was troubled
at her staying out so long. But she come well home, and so to supper and
to bed.
14th. Up, and to the office, where we held a meeting extraordinary upon
some particular business, and there sat all the morning. At noon, my
wife being gone to the whitster’s again to her clothes, I to dinner to
Sir W. Batten’s, where much of our discourse concerning Carcasse, who it
seems do find success before the Council, and do everywhere threaten us
with what he will prove against us, which do vex us to see that we must
be subjected to such a rogue of our own servants as this is. By and
by to talk of our prize at Hull, and Sir W. Batten offering, again and
again, seriously how he would sell his part for L1000 and I considering
the knavery of Hogg and his company, and the trouble we may have with
the Prince Rupert about the consort ship, and how we are linked with Sir
R. Ford, whose son-in-law too is got thither, and there we intrust him
with all our concern, who I doubt not is of the same trade with his
father-in-law for a knave, and then the danger of the sea, if it shall
be brought about, or bad debts contracted in the sale, but chiefly to be
eased of my fears about all or any of this, I did offer my part to
him for L700. With a little beating the bargain, we come to a perfect
agreement for L666 13s. 4d., which is two-thirds of L1000, which is
my proportion of the prize. I went to my office full of doubts and joy
concerning what I had done; but, however, did put into writing the heads
of our agreement, and returned to Sir W. Batten, and we both signed
them; and Sir R. Ford, being come thither since, witnessed them. So
having put it past further dispute I away, satisfied, and took coach and
to the King’s playhouse, and there saw “The Country Captain,” which is
a very ordinary play. Methinks I had no pleasure therein at all, and
so home again and to my business hard till my wife come home from her
clothes, and so with her to supper and to bed. No news yet come of the
ratification of the peace which we have expected now every hour since
yesterday.
15th. Up, and to the office betimes, where busy, and sat all the
morning, vexed with more news of Carcasses proceedings at the Council,
insomuch as we four, [Sir] J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten, (Sir) W. Pen, and
myself, did make an appointment to dine with Sir W. Coventry to-day
to discourse it with him, which we did by going thither as soon as the
office was up, and there dined, and very merry, and many good stories,
and after dinner to our discourse about Carcasse, and how much we are
troubled that we should be brought, as they say we shall, to defend our
report before the Council-board with him, and to have a clerk imposed on
us. He tells us in short that there is no intention in the Lords for the
latter, but wholly the contrary. That they do not desire neither to do
anything in disrespect to the Board, and he will endeavour to prevent,
as he hath done, our coming to plead at the table with our clerk, and
do believe the whole will amount to nothing at the Council, only what
he shall declare in behalf of the King against the office, if he
offers anything, will and ought to be received, to which we all shew a
readiness, though I confess even that (though I think I am as clear as
the clearest of them), yet I am troubled to think what trouble a rogue
may without cause give a man, though it be only by bespattering a man,
and therefore could wish that over, though I fear nothing to be proved.
Thence with much satisfaction, and Sir W. Pen and I to the Duke’s house,
where a new play. The King and Court there: the house full, and an act
begun. And so went to the King’s, and there saw “The Merry Wives of
Windsor:” which did not please me at all, in no part of it, and so after
the play done we to the Duke’s house, where my wife was by appointment
in Sir W. Pen’s coach, and she home, and we home, and I to my office,
where busy till letters done, and then home to supper and to bed.
16th. Up, and at the office all the morning, and so at noon to dinner,
and after dinner my wife and I to the Duke’s playhouse, where we saw the
new play acted yesterday, “The Feign Innocence, or Sir Martin Marr-all;”
a play made by my Lord Duke of Newcastle, but, as every body says,
corrected by Dryden. It is the most entire piece of mirth, a complete
farce from one end to the other, that certainly was ever writ. I never
laughed so in all my life. I laughed till my head [ached] all the
evening and night with the laughing; and at very good wit therein, not
fooling. The house full, and in all things of mighty content to me.
Thence to the New Exchange with my wife, where, at my bookseller’s, I
saw “The History of the Royall Society,” which, I believe, is a fine
book, and have bespoke one in quires. So home, and I to the office a
little, and so to my chamber, and read the history of 88--[See 10th of
this month.]--in Speede, in order to my seeing the play thereof acted
to-morrow at the King’s house. So to supper in some pain by the sudden
change of the weather cold and my drinking of cold drink, which I must I
fear begin to leave off, though I shall try it as long as I can without
much pain. But I find myself to be full of wind, and my anus to be knit
together as it is always with cold. Every body wonders that we have no
news from Bredah of the ratification of the peace; and do suspect that
there is some stop in it. So to bed.
17th. Up, and all the morning at the office, where we sat, and my head
was full of the business of Carcasse, who hath a hearing this morning
before the Council and hath summonsed at least thirty persons, and which
is wondrous, a great many of them, I hear, do declare more against him
than for him, and yet he summonses people without distinction. Sure he
is distracted. At noon home to dinner, and presently my wife and I and
Sir W. Pen to the King’s playhouse, where the house extraordinary full;
and there was the King and Duke of York to see the new play, “Queen
Elizabeth’s Troubles and the History of Eighty Eight.” I confess I have
sucked in so much of the sad story of Queen Elizabeth, from my cradle,
that I was ready to weep for her sometimes; but the play is the most
ridiculous that sure ever come upon the stage; and, indeed, is merely a
shew, only shews the true garbe of the Queen in those days, just as we
see Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth painted; but the play is merely a
puppet play, acted by living puppets. Neither the design nor language
better; and one stands by and tells us the meaning of things: only I was
pleased to see Knipp dance among the milkmaids, and to hear her sing a
song to Queen Elizabeth; and to see her come out in her night-gowne with
no lockes on, but her bare face and hair only tied up in a knot behind;
which is the comeliest dress that ever I saw her in to her advantage.
Thence home and went as far as Mile End with Sir W. Pen, whose coach
took him up there for his country-house; and after having drunk there,
at the Rose and Crowne, a good house for Alderman Bides ale,--[John
Bide, brewer, Sheriff of London in 1647.--B.]--we parted, and we home,
and there I finished my letters, and then home to supper and to bed.
18th (Lord’s day). Up, and being ready, walked up and down to Cree
Church, to see it how it is; but I find no alteration there, as they say
there was, for my Lord Mayor and Aldermen to come to sermon, as they do
every Sunday, as they did formerly to Paul’s. Walk back home and to our
own church, where a dull sermon and our church empty of the best sort of
people, they being at their country houses, and so home, and there dined
with me Mr. Turner and his daughter Betty.
[Betty Turner, who is frequently mentioned after this date, appears
to have been a daughter of Serjeant John Turner and his wife Jane,
and younger sister of Theophila Turner (see January 4th, 6th,
1668-69).]
Her mother should, but they were invited to Sir J. Minnes, where she
dined and the others here with me. Betty is grown a fine lady as to
carriage and discourse. I and my wife are mightily pleased with her. We
had a good haunch of venison, powdered and boiled, and a good dinner and
merry. After dinner comes Mr. Pelling the Potticary, whom I had sent for
to dine with me, but he was engaged. After sitting an hour to talk we
broke up, all leaving Pelling to talk with my wife, and I walked towards
White Hall, but, being wearied, turned into St. Dunstan’s Church, where
I heard an able sermon of the minister of the place; and stood by a
pretty, modest maid, whom I did labour to take by the hand and the body;
but she would not, but got further and further from me; and, at last,
I could perceive her to take pins out of her pocket to prick me if I
should touch her again--which seeing I did forbear, and was glad I did
spy her design. And then I fell to gaze upon another pretty maid in a
pew close to me, and she on me; and I did go about to take her by the
hand, which she suffered a little and then withdrew. So the sermon
ended, and the church broke up, and my amours ended also, and so took
coach and home, and there took up my wife, and to Islington with
her, our old road, but before we got to Islington, between that and
Kingsland, there happened an odd adventure: one of our coach-horses fell
sick of the staggers, so as he was ready to fall down. The coachman was
fain to ‘light, and hold him up, and cut his tongue to make him bleed,
and his tail. The horse continued shaking every part of him, as if he
had been in an ague, a good while, and his blood settled in his tongue,
and the coachman thought and believed he would presently drop down dead;
then he blew some tobacco in his nose, upon which the horse sneezed,
and, by and by, grows well, and draws us the rest of our way, as well
as ever he did; which was one of the strangest things of a horse I ever
observed, but he says it is usual. It is the staggers. Staid and eat and
drank at Islington, at the old house, and so home, and to my chamber to
read, and then to supper and to bed.
19th. Up, and at the office all the morning very busy. Towards noon I to
Westminster about some tallies at the Exchequer, and then straight home
again and dined, and then to sing with my wife with great content, and
then I to the office again, where busy, and then out and took coach
and to the Duke of York’s house, all alone, and there saw “Sir Martin
Marr-all” again, though I saw him but two days since, and do find it the
most comical play that ever I saw in my life. Soon as the play done I
home, and there busy till night, and then comes Mr. Moore to me only to
discourse with me about some general things touching the badness of the
times, how ill they look, and he do agree with most people that I meet
with, that we shall fall into a commonwealth in a few years, whether we
will or no; for the charge of a monarchy is such as the kingdom cannot
be brought to bear willingly, nor are things managed so well nowadays
under it, as heretofore. He says every body do think that there is
something extraordinary that keeps us so long from the news of the peace
being ratified, which the King and the Duke of York have expected these
six days. He gone, my wife and I and Mrs. Turner walked in the garden a
good while till 9 at night, and then parted, and I home to supper and to
read a little (which I cannot refrain, though I have all the reason in
the world to favour my eyes, which every day grow worse and worse by
over-using them), and then to bed.
20th. Up, and to my chamber to set down my journall for the last three
days, and then to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon home
to dinner, and then with my wife abroad, set her down at the Exchange,
and I to St. James’s, where find Sir W. Coventry alone, and fell to
discourse of retrenchments; and thereon he tells how he hath already
propounded to the Lords Committee of the Councils how he would have the
Treasurer of the Navy a less man, that might not sit at the Board, but
be subject to the Board. He would have two Controllers to do his work
and two Surveyors, whereof one of each to take it by turns to reside at
Portsmouth and Chatham by a kind of rotation; he would have but only one
Clerk of the Acts. He do tell me he hath propounded how the charge of
the Navy in peace shall come within L200,000, by keeping out twenty-four
ships in summer, and ten in the winter. And several other particulars
we went over of retrenchment: and I find I must provide some things to
offer that I may be found studious to lessen the King’s charge. By and
by comes my Lord Bruncker, and then we up to the Duke of York, and there
had a hearing of our usual business, but no money to be heard of--no,
not L100 upon the most pressing service that can be imagined of bringing
in the King’s timber from Whittlewood, while we have the utmost want of
it, and no credit to provide it elsewhere, and as soon as we had done
with the Duke of York, Sir W. Coventry did single [out] Sir W. Pen and
me, and desired us to lend the King some money, out of the prizes we
have taken by Hogg. He did not much press it, and we made but a merry
answer thereto; but I perceive he did ask it seriously, and did tell us
that there never was so much need of it in the world as now, we being
brought to the lowest straits that can be in the world. This troubled me
much. By and by Sir W. Batten told me that he heard how Carcasse do now
give out that he will hang me, among the rest of his threats of him
and Pen, which is the first word I ever heard of the kind from him
concerning me. It do trouble me a little, though I know nothing he can
possibly find to fasten on me. Thence, with my Lord Bruncker to the
Duke’s Playhouse (telling my wife so at the ‘Change, where I left her),
and there saw “Sir Martin Marr-all” again, which I have now seen three
times, and it hath been acted but four times, and still find it a very
ingenious play, and full of variety. So home, and to the office, where
my eyes would not suffer me to do any thing by candlelight, and so
called my wife and walked in the garden. She mighty pressing for a new
pair of cuffs, which I am against the laying out of money upon yet,
which makes her angry. So home to supper and to bed.
21st. Up, and my wife and I fell out about the pair of cuffs, which she
hath a mind to have to go to see the ladies dancing to-morrow at Betty
Turner’s school; and do vex me so that I am resolved to deny them
her. However, by-and-by a way was found that she had them, and I well
satisfied, being unwilling to let our difference grow higher upon so
small an occasion and frowardness of mine. Then to the office, my Lord
Bruncker and I all the morning answering petitions, which now by a new
Council’s order we are commanded to set a day in a week apart for,
and we resolve to do it by turn, my Lord and I one week and two others
another. At noon home to dinner, and then my wife and I mighty pleasant
abroad, she to the New Exchange and I to the Commissioners of the
Treasury, who do sit very close, and are bringing the King’s charges as
low as they can; but Sir W. Coventry did here again tell me that he is
very serious in what he said to Sir W. Pen and me yesterday about our
lending of money to the King; and says that people do talk that we had
had the King’s ships at his cost to take prizes, and that we ought
to lend the King money more than other people. I did tell him I will
consider it, and so parted; and do find I cannot avoid it. So to
Westminster Hall and there staid a while, and thence to Mrs. Martin’s,
and there did take a little pleasure both with her and her sister. Here
sat and talked, and it is a strange thing to see the impudence of the
woman, that desires by all means to have her mari come home, only that
she might beat liberty to have me para toker her, which is a thing I do
not so much desire. Thence by coach, took up my wife, and home and out
to Mile End, and there drank, and so home, and after some little reading
in my chamber, to supper and to bed. This day I sent my cozen Roger a
tierce of claret, which I give him. This morning come two of Captain
Cooke’s boys, whose voices are broke, and are gone from the Chapel, but
have extraordinary skill; and they and my boy, with his broken voice,
did sing three parts; their names were Blaewl and Loggings; but,
notwithstanding their skill, yet to hear them sing with their broken
voices, which they could not command to keep in tune, would make a man
mad--so bad it was.
22nd. Up, and to the office; whence Lord Bruncker, J. Minnes, W. Pen,
and I, went to examine some men that are put in there, for rescuing of
men that were pressed into the service: and we do plainly see that the
desperate condition that we put men into for want of their pay, makes
them mad, they being as good men as ever were in the world, and would
as readily serve the King again, were they but paid. Two men leapt
overboard, among others, into the Thames, out of the vessel into which
they were pressed, and were shot by the soldiers placed there to keep
them, two days since; so much people do avoid the King’s service! And
then these men are pressed without money, and so we cannot punish them
for any thing, so that we are forced only to make a show of severity by
keeping them in prison, but are unable to punish them. Returning to the
office, did ask whether we might visit Commissioner Pett, to which, I
confess, I have no great mind; and it was answered that he was close
prisoner, and we could not; but the Lieutenant of the Tower would send
for him to his lodgings, if we would: so we put it off to another time.
Returned to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon to
Captain Cocke’s to dinner; where Lord Bruncker and his Lady, Matt. Wren,
and Bulteale, and Sir Allen Apsly; the last of whom did make good sport,
he being already fallen under the retrenchments of the new Committee, as
he is Master Falconer;
[The post of Master Falconer was afterwards granted to Charles’s son
by Nell Gwyn, and it is still held by the Duke of St. Albans, as an
hereditary office.--B.]
which makes him mad, and swears that we are doing that the Parliament
would have done--that is, that we are now endeavouring to destroy one
another. But it was well observed by some at the table, that they do not
think this retrenching of the King’s charge will be so acceptable to the
Parliament, they having given the King a revenue of so many L100,000’s
a-year more than his predecessors had, that he might live in pomp,
like a king. After dinner with my Lord Bruncker and his mistress to the
King’s playhouse, and there saw “The Indian Emperour;” where I find Nell
come again, which I am glad of; but was most infinitely displeased
with her being put to act the Emperour’s daughter; which is a great and
serious part, which she do most basely. The rest of the play, though
pretty good, was not well acted by most of them, methought; so that I
took no great content in it. But that, that troubled me most was, that
Knipp sent by Moll’ to desire to speak to me after the play; and she
beckoned to me at the end of the play, and I promised to come; but it
was so late, and I forced to step to Mrs. Williams’s lodgings with my
Lord Bruncker and her, where I did not stay, however, for fear of her
shewing me her closet, and thereby forcing me to give her something; and
it was so late, that for fear of my wife’s coming home before me, I was
forced to go straight home, which troubled me. Home and to the office a
little, and then home and to my chamber to read, and anon, late, comes
home my wife, with Mr. Turner and Mrs. Turner, with whom she supped,
having been with Mrs. Turner to-day at her daughter’s school, to see her
daughters dancing, and the rest, which she says is fine. They gone, I
to supper and to bed. My wife very fine to-day, in her new suit of laced
cuffs and perquisites. This evening Pelling comes to me, and tells
me that this night the Dutch letters are come, and that the peace was
proclaimed there the 19th inst., and that all is finished; which, for
my life, I know not whether to be glad or sorry for, a peace being so
necessary, and yet the peace is so bad in its terms.
23rd. Up, and Greeting comes, who brings me a tune for two flageolets,
which we played, and is a tune played at the King’s playhouse, which
goes so well, that I will have more of them, and it will be a mighty
pleasure for me to have my wife able to play a part with me, which she
will easily, I find, do. Then abroad to White Hall in a hackney-coach
with Sir W. Pen: and in our way, in the narrow street near Paul’s, going
the backway by Tower Street, and the coach being forced to put back,
he was turning himself into a cellar,--[So much of London was yet in
ruins.--B]--which made people cry out to us, and so we were forced to
leap out--he out of one, and I out of the other boote;
[The “boot” was originally a projection on each side of the coach,
where the passengers sat with their backs to the carriage. Such a
“boot” is seen in the carriage containing the attendants of Queen
Elizabeth, in Hoefnagel’s well-known picture of Nonsuch Palace,
dated 1582. Taylor, the Water Poet, the inveterate opponent of the
introduction of coaches, thus satirizes the one in which he was
forced to take his place as a passenger: “It wears two boots and no
spurs, sometimes having two pairs of legs in one boot; and
oftentimes against nature most preposterously it makes fair ladies
wear the boot. Moreover, it makes people imitate sea-crabs, in
being drawn sideways, as they are when they sit in the boot of the
coach.” In course of time these projections were abolished, and the
coach then consisted of three parts, viz., the body, the boot (on
the top of which the coachman sat), and the baskets at the back.]
Query, whether a glass-coach would have permitted us to have made the
escape?--[See note on introduction of glass coaches, September 23rd,
1667.]--neither of us getting any hurt; nor could the coach have got
much hurt had we been in it; but, however, there was cause enough for us
to do what we could to save ourselves. So being all dusty, we put into
the Castle tavern, by the Savoy, and there brushed ourselves, and then
to White Hall with our fellows to attend the Council, by order upon some
proposition of my Lord Anglesey, we were called in. The King there: and
it was about considering how the fleete might be discharged at their
coming in shortly (the peace being now ratified, and it takes place on
Monday next, which Sir W. Coventry said would make some clashing between
some of us twenty to one, for want of more warning, but the wind has
kept the boats from coming over), whether by money or tickets, and cries
out against tickets, but the matter was referred for us to provide
an answer to, which we must do in a few days. So we parted, and I to
Westminster to the Exchequer, to see what sums of money other people
lend upon the Act; and find of all sizes from L1000 to L100 nay, to L50,
nay, to L20, nay, to L5: for I find that one Dr. Reade, Doctor of Law,
gives no more, and others of them L20; which is a poor thing, methinks,
that we should stoop so low as to borrow such sums. Upon the whole, I
do think to lend, since I must lend, L300, though, God knows! it is much
against my will to lend any, unless things were in better condition, and
likely to continue so. Thence home and there to dinner, and after dinner
by coach out again, setting my wife down at Unthanke’s, and I to the
Treasury-chamber, where I waited, talking with Sir G. Downing, till the
Lords met. He tells me how he will make all the Exchequer officers, of
one side and t’other, to lend the King money upon the Act; and that the
least clerk shall lend money, and he believes the least will L100: but
this I do not believe. He made me almost ashamed that we of the Navy had
not in all this time lent any; so that I find it necessary I should, and
so will speedily do it, before any of my fellows begin, and lead me to a
bigger sum. By and by the Lords come; and I perceive Sir W. Coventry is
the man, and nothing done till he comes. Among other things, I hear him
observe, looking over a paper, that Sir John Shaw is a miracle of a man,
for he thinks he executes more places than any man in England; for there
he finds him a Surveyor of some of the King’s woods, and so reckoned up
many other places, the most inconsistent in the world. Their business
with me was to consider how to assigne such of our commanders as will
take assignements upon the Act for their wages; and the consideration
thereof was referred to me to give them an answer the next sitting:
which is a horrid poor thing: but they scruple at nothing of honour in
the case. So away hence, and called my wife, and to the King’s house,
and saw “The Mayden Queene,” which pleases us mightily; and then away,
and took up Mrs. Turner at her door, and so to Mile End, and there
drank, and so back to her house, it being a fine evening, and there
supped. The first time I ever was there since they lived there; and she
hath all things so neat and well done, that I am mightily pleased with
her, and all she do. So here very merry, and then home and to bed, my
eyes being very bad. I find most people pleased with their being at
ease, and safe of a peace, that they may know no more charge or hazard
of an ill-managed war: but nobody speaking of the peace with any content
or pleasure, but are silent in it, as of a thing they are ashamed of;
no, not at Court, much less in the City.
24th (St. Bartholomew’s day). This morning was proclaimed the peace
between us and the States of the United Provinces, and also of the King
of France and Denmarke; and in the afternoon the Proclamations were
printed and come out; and at night the bells rung, but no bonfires that
I hear of any where, partly from the dearness of firing, but principally
from the little content most people have in the peace. All the morning
at the office. At noon dined, and Creed with me, at home. After dinner
we to a play, and there saw “The Cardinall” at the King’s house,
wherewith I am mightily pleased; but, above all, with Becke Marshall.
But it is pretty to observe how I look up and down for, and did spy
Knipp; but durst not own it to my wife that I see her, for fear of
angering her, who do not like my kindness to her, and so I was forced
not to take notice of her, and so homeward, leaving Creed at the Temple:
and my belly now full with plays, that I do intend to bind myself to see
no more till Michaelmas. So with my wife to Mile End, and there drank
of Bides ale, and so home. Most of our discourse is about our keeping a
coach the next year, which pleases my wife mightily; and if I continue
as able as now, it will save us money. This day comes a letter from the
Duke of York to the Board to invite us, which is as much as to fright
us, into the lending the King money; which is a poor thing, and most
dishonourable, and shows in what a case we are at the end of the war
to our neighbours. And the King do now declare publickly to give 10 per
cent. to all lenders; which makes some think that the Dutch themselves
will send over money, and lend it upon our publick faith, the Act of
Parliament. So home and to my office, wrote a little, and then home to
supper and to bed.
25th (Lord’s day). Up, and to church, and thence home; and Pelling comes
by invitation to dine with me, and much pleasant discourse with him.
After dinner, away by water to White Hall, where I landed Pelling, who
is going to his wife, where she is in the country, at Parson’s Greene:
and myself to Westminster, and there at the Swan I did baiser Frank,
and to the parish church, thinking to see Betty Michell; and did stay
an hour in the crowd, thinking, by the end of a nose that I saw, that
it had been her; but at last the head turned towards me, and it was her
mother, which vexed me, and so I back to my boat, which had broke one
of her oars in rowing, and had now fastened it again; and so I up to
Putney, and there stepped into the church, to look upon the fine people
there, whereof there is great store, and the young ladies; and so
walked to Barne-Elmes, whither I sent Russel, reading of Boyle’s
Hydrostatickes, which are of infinite delight. I walked in the Elmes a
good while, and then to my boat, and leisurely home, with great pleasure
to myself; and there supped, and W. Hewer with us, with whom a great
deal of good talk touching the Office, and so to bed.
26th. Up, and Greeting come, and I reckoned with him for his teaching
of my wife and me upon the flageolet to this day, and so paid him for
having as much as he can teach us. Then to the Office, where we sat upon
a particular business all the morning: and my Lord Anglesey with us:
who, and my Lord Bruncker, do bring us news how my Lord Chancellor’s
seal is to be taken away from him to-day. The thing is so great and
sudden to me, that it put me into a very great admiration what should be
the meaning of it; and they do not own that they know what it should be:
but this is certain, that the King did resolve it on Saturday, and did
yesterday send the Duke of Albemarle, the only man fit for those works,
to him for his purse: to which the Chancellor answered, that he received
it from the King, and would deliver it to the King’s own hand, and so
civilly returned the Duke of Albemarle without it; and this morning
my Lord Chancellor is to be with the King, to come to an end in the
business. After sitting, we rose, and my wife being gone abroad
with Mrs. Turner to her washing at the whitster’s, I dined at Sir W.
Batten’s, where Mr. Boreman was, who come from White Hall; who tells us
that he saw my Lord Chancellor come in his coach with some of his men,
without his Seal, to White Hall to his chamber; and thither the King and
Duke of York come and staid together alone, an hour or more: and it is
said that the King do say that he will have the Parliament meet, and
that it will prevent much trouble by having of him out of their enmity,
by his place being taken away; for that all their enmity will be at him.
It is said also that my Lord Chancellor answers, that he desires he may
be brought to his trial, if he have done any thing to lose his office;
and that he will be willing, and is most desirous, to lose that, and
his head both together. Upon what terms they parted nobody knows but the
Chancellor looked sad, he says. Then in comes Sir Richard Ford, and says
he hears that there is nobody more presses to reconcile the King and
Chancellor than the Duke of Albemarle and Duke of Buckingham: the latter
of which is very strange, not only that he who was so lately his enemy
should do it, but that this man, that but the other day was in danger of
losing his own head, should so soon come to be a mediator for others: it
shows a wise Government. They all say that he [Clarendon] is but a poor
man, not worth above L3000 a-year in land; but this I cannot believe:
and all do blame him for having built so great a house, till he had got
a better estate. Having dined, Sir J. Minnes and I to White Hall, where
we could be informed in no more than we were told before, nobody knowing
the result of the meeting, but that the matter is suspended. So I
walked to the King’s playhouse, there to meet Sir W. Pen, and saw “The
Surprizall,” a very mean play, I thought: or else it was because I was
out of humour, and but very little company in the house. But there Sir
W. Pen and I had a great deal of discourse with Moll; who tells us that
Nell is already left by my Lord Buckhurst, and that he makes sport of
her, and swears she hath had all she could get of him; and Hart,
[Charles Hart, great-nephew of Shakespeare, a favourite actor. He
is credited with being Nell Gwyn’s first lover (or Charles I., as
the wits put it), and with having brought her on the stage. He died
of stone, and was buried at Stanmore Magna, Middlesex, where he had
a country house.]
her great admirer, now hates her; and that she is very poor, and hath
lost my Lady Castlemayne, who was her great friend also but she is come
to the House, but is neglected by them all.
[Lord Buckhurst’s liaison with Nell Gwyn probably came to an end
about this time. We learn from Pepys that in January, 1667-68, the
king sent several times for Nelly (see January 11th, 1667-68).
Nell’s eldest son by Charles II., Charles Beauclerc, was not born
till May 8th, 1670. He was created Earl of Burford in 1676 and Duke
of St. Albans in 1684.]
Thence with Sir W. Pen home, and I to the office, where late about
business, and then home to supper, and so to bed.
27th. Up, and am invited betimes to be godfather tomorrow to Captain
Poole’s child with my Lady Pen and Lady Batten, which I accepted out
of complaisance to them, and so to the office, where we sat all the
morning. At noon dined at home, and then my wife and I, with Sir W. Pen,
to the New Exchange, set her down, and he and I to St. James’s, where
Sir J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten, and we waited upon the Duke of York,
but did little business, and he, I perceive, his head full of other
business, and of late hath not been very ready to be troubled with any
of our business. Having done with him, Sir J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten
and I to White Hall, and there hear how it is like to go well enough
with my Lord Chancellor; that he is like to keep his Seal, desiring that
he may stand his trial in Parliament, if they will accuse him of any
thing. Here Sir J. Minnes and I looking upon the pictures; and Mr.
Chevins, being by, did take us, of his own accord, into the King’s
closet, to shew us some pictures, which, indeed, is a very noble place,
and exceeding great variety of brave pictures, and the best hands.
I could have spent three or four hours there well, and we had great
liberty to look and Chevins seemed to take pleasure to shew us, and
commend the pictures. Having done here, I to the Exchange, and there
find my wife gone with Sir W. Pen. So I to visit Colonel Fitzgerald, who
hath been long sick at Woolwich, where most of the officers and soldiers
quartered there, since the Dutch being in the river, have died or been
sick, and he among the rest; and, by the growth of his beard and gray
[hairs], I did not know him. His desire to speak with me was about the
late command for my paying no more pensions for Tangier. Thence home,
and there did business, and so in the evening home to supper and to bed.
This day Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, was with me; and tells me how this
business of my Lord Chancellor’s was certainly designed in my Lady
Castlemayne’s chamber; and that, when he went from the King on Monday
morning, she was in bed, though about twelve o’clock, and ran out in her
smock into her aviary looking into White Hall garden; and thither her
woman brought her her nightgown; and stood joying herself at the old
man’s going away: and several of the gallants of White Hall, of which
there were many staying to see the Chancellor return, did talk to her in
her birdcage; among others, Blancford, telling her she was the bird of
paradise.
[Clarendon refers to this scene in the continuation of his Life (ed.
1827, vol. iii., p. 291), and Lister writes: “Lady Castlemaine rose
hastily from her noontide bed, and came out into her aviary, anxious
to read in the saddened air of her distinguished enemy some presage
of his fall” (“Life of Clarendon,” vol. ii., p. 412).]
28th. Up; and staid undressed till my tailor’s boy did mend my vest, in
order to my going to the christening anon. Then out and to White Hall,
to attend the Council, by their order, with an answer to their demands
touching our advice for the paying off of the seamen, when the ships
shall come in, which answer is worth seeing, shewing the badness of our
condition. There, when I come, I was forced to stay till past twelve
o’clock, in a crowd of people in the lobby, expecting the hearing of the
great cause of Alderman Barker against my Lord Deputy of Ireland, for
his ill usage in his business of land there; but the King and Council
sat so long, as they neither heard them nor me. So when they rose, I
into the House, and saw the King and Queen at dinner, and heard a little
of their viallins’ musick, and so home, and there to dinner, and in the
afternoon with my Lady Batten, Pen, and her daughter, and my wife, to
Mrs. Poole’s, where I mighty merry among the women, and christened the
child, a girl, Elizabeth, which, though a girl, yet my Lady Batten would
have me to give the name. After christening comes Sir W. Batten, [Sir]
W. Pen, and Mr. Lowther, and mighty merry there, and I forfeited for
not kissing the two godmothers presently after the christening, before I
kissed the mother, which made good mirth; and so anon away, and my wife
and I took coach and went twice round Bartholomew fayre; which I was
glad to see again, after two years missing it by the plague, and so home
and to my chamber a little, and so to supper and to bed.
29th. Up, and Mr. Moore comes to me, and among other things tells me
that my Lord Crew and his friends take it very ill of me that my Lord
Sandwich’s sea-fee should be retrenched, and so reported from this
Office, and I give them no notice of it. The thing, though I know to be
false--at least, that nothing went from our office towards it--yet it
troubled me, and therefore after the office rose I went and dined with
my Lord Crew, and before dinner I did enter into that discourse, and
laboured to satisfy him; but found, though he said little, yet that he
was not yet satisfied; but after dinner did pray me to go and see how
it was, whether true or no. Did tell me if I was not their friend, they
could trust to nobody, and that he did not forget my service and love to
my Lord, and adventures for him in dangerous times, and therefore would
not willingly doubt me now; but yet asked my pardon if, upon this news,
he did begin to fear it. This did mightily trouble me: so I away thence
to White Hall, but could do nothing. So home, and there wrote all my
letters, and then, in the evening, to White Hall again, and there
met Sir Richard Browne, Clerk to the Committee for retrenchments, who
assures me no one word was ever yet mentioned about my Lord’s salary.
This pleased me, and I to Sir G. Carteret, who I find in the same doubt
about it, and assured me he saw it in our original report, my Lord’s
name with a discharge against it. This, though I know to be false, or
that it must be a mistake in my clerk, I went back to Sir R. Browne and
got a sight of their paper, and find how the mistake arose, by the ill
copying of it out for the Council from our paper sent to the Duke of
York, which I took away with me and shewed Sir G. Carteret, and thence
to my Lord Crew, and the mistake ended very merrily, and to all our
contents, particularly my own, and so home, and to the office, and
then to my chamber late, and so to supper and to bed. I find at Sir G.
Carteret’s that they do mightily joy themselves in the hopes of my Lord
Chancellor’s getting over this trouble; and I make them believe, and so,
indeed, I do believe he will, that my Lord Chancellor is become popular
by it. I find by all hands that the Court is at this day all to pieces,
every man of a faction of one sort or other, so as it is to be feared
what it will come to. But that, that pleases me is, I hear to-night that
Mr. Bruncker is turned away yesterday by the Duke of York, for some bold
words he was heard by Colonel Werden to say in the garden, the day
the Chancellor was with the King--that he believed the King would be
hectored out of everything. For this the Duke of York, who all say hath
been very strong for his father-in-law at this trial, hath turned him
away: and every body, I think, is glad of it; for he was a pestilent
rogue, an atheist, that would have sold his King and country for 6d.
almost, so covetous and wicked a rogue he is, by all men’s report. But
one observed to me, that there never was the occasion of men’s holding
their tongues at Court and everywhere else as there is at this day, for
nobody knows which side will be uppermost.
30th. Up, and to White Hall, where at the Council Chamber I hear
Barker’s business is like to come to a hearing to-day, having failed
the last day. I therefore to Westminster to see what I could do in
my ‘Chequer business about Tangier, and finding nothing to be done,
returned, and in the Lobby staid till almost noon expecting to hear
Barker’s business, but it was not called, so I come away. Here I met
with Sir G. Downing, who tells me of Sir W. Pen’s offering to lend
L500; and I tell him of my L300, which he would have me to lend upon the
credit of the latter part of the Act; saying, that by that means my 10
per cent. will continue to me the longer. But I understand better, and
will do it upon the L380,000, which will come to be paid the sooner;
there being no delight in lending money now, to be paid by the King
two years hence. But here he and Sir William Doyly were attending the
Council as Commissioners for sick and wounded, and prisoners: and they
told me their business, which was to know how we shall do to release our
prisoners; for it seems the Dutch have got us to agree in the treaty, as
they fool us in anything, that the dyet of the prisoners on both sides
shall be paid for, before they be released; which they have done,
knowing ours to run high, they having more prisoners of ours than we
have of theirs; so that they are able and most ready to discharge the
debt of theirs, but we are neither able nor willing to do that for ours,
the debt of those in Zealand only, amounting to above L5000 for men
taken in the King’s own ships, besides others taken in merchantmen,
which expect, as is usual, that the King should redeem them; but I think
he will not, by what Sir G. Downing says. This our prisoners complain
of there; and say in their letters, which Sir G. Downing shewed me, that
they have made a good feat that they should be taken in the service of
the King, and the King not pay for their victuals while prisoners for
him. But so far they are from doing thus with their men, as we do to
discourage ours, that I find in the letters of some of our prisoners
there, which he shewed me, that they have with money got our men, that
they took, to work and carry their ships home for them; and they have
been well rewarded, and released when they come into Holland: which is
done like a noble, brave, and wise people. Having staid out my time that
I thought fit for me to return home, I home and there took coach and
with my wife to Walthamstow; to Sir W. Pen’s, by invitation, the first
time I have been there, and there find him and all their guests (of
our office only) at dinner, which was a very bad dinner, and everything
suitable, that I never knew people in my life that make their flutter,
that do things so meanly. I was sick to see it, but was merry at some
ridiculous humours of my Lady Batten, who, as being an ill-bred woman,
would take exceptions at anything any body said, and I made good sport
at it. After dinner into the garden and wilderness, which is like the
rest of the house, nothing in order, nor looked after. By and by comes
newes that my Lady Viner was come to see Mrs. Lowther, which I was glad
of, and all the pleasure I had here was to see her, which I did, and
saluted her, and find she is pretty, though not so eminently so as
people talked of her, and of very pretty carriage and discourse. I sat
with them and her an hour talking and pleasant, and then slunk away
alone without taking leave, leaving my wife there to come home with
them, and I to Bartholomew fayre, to walk up and down; and there,
among other things, find my Lady Castlemayne at a puppet-play, “Patient
Grizill,”
[The well-known story, first told by Boccaccio, then by Petrarca,
afterwards by Chaucer, and which has since become proverbial. Tom
Warton, writing about 1770, says, “I need not mention that it is to
this day represented in England, on a stage of the lowest species,
and of the highest antiquity: I mean at a puppet show” (“Hist. of
English Poetry,” sect. xv.).--B.]
and the street full of people expecting her coming out. I confess I did
wonder at her courage to come abroad, thinking the people would abuse
her; but they, silly people! do not know her work she makes, and
therefore suffered her with great respect to take coach, and she away,
without any trouble at all, which I wondered at, I confess. I only
walked up and down, and, among others, saw Tom Pepys, the turner, who
hath a shop, and I think lives in the fair when the fair is not. I
only asked how he did as he stood in the street, and so up and down
sauntering till late and then home, and there discoursed with my wife of
our bad entertainment to-day, and so to bed. I met Captain Cocke to-day
at the Council Chamber and took him with me to Westminster, who tells
me that there is yet expectation that the Chancellor will lose the Seal,
and that he is sure that the King hath said it to him who told it him,
and he fears we shall be soon broke in pieces, and assures me that there
have been high words between the Duke of York and Sir W. Coventry, for
his being so high against the Chancellor; so as the Duke of York would
not sign some papers that he brought, saying that he could not endure
the sight of him: and that Sir W. Coventry answered, that what he did
was in obedience to the King’s commands; and that he did not think any
man fit to serve a Prince, that did not know how to retire and live a
country life. This is all I hear.
31st. At the office all the morning; where, by Sir W. Pen, I do hear
that the Seal was fetched away to the King yesterday from the Lord
Chancellor by Secretary Morrice; which puts me into a great horror, to
have it done after so much debate and confidence that it would not be
done at last. When we arose I took a turn with Lord Bruncker in the
garden, and he tells me that he hath of late discoursed about this
business with Sir W. Coventry, who he finds is the great man in the
doing this business of the Chancellor’s, and that he do persevere in
it, though against the Duke of York’s opinion, to which he says that
the Duke of York was once of the same mind, and if he hath thought fit
since, for any reason, to alter his mind, he hath not found any to alter
his own, and so desires to be excused, for it is for the King’s and
kingdom’s good. And it seems that the Duke of York himself was the first
man that did speak to the King of this, though he hath since altered his
mind; and that W. Coventry did tell the Duke of York that he was not fit
to serve a Prince that did not know how to retire, and live a private
life; and that he was ready for that, if it be his and the King’s
pleasure. After having wrote my letters at the office in the afternoon,
I in the evening to White Hall to see how matters go, and there I met
with Mr. Ball, of the Excise-office, and he tells me that the Seal is
delivered to Sir Orlando Bridgeman; the man of the whole nation that
is the best spoken of, and will please most people; and therefore I am
mighty glad of it. He was then at my Lord Arlington’s, whither I went,
expecting to see him come out; but staid so long, and Sir W. Coventry
coming thither, whom I had not a mind should see me there idle upon a
post-night, I went home without seeing him; but he is there with his
Seal in his hand. So I home, took up my wife, whom I left at Unthanke’s,
and so home, and after signing my letters to bed. This day, being
dissatisfied with my wife’s learning so few songs of Goodgroome, I did
come to a new bargain with him to teach her songs at so much, viz.; 10s.
a song, which he accepts of, and will teach her.