he sayd, in a Kind of Wonder, "Why, _Moll_, whence had you
that?--Methought you hated Versing, as you used to call it. When learnt
you to love it?" I hung my Head in my old foolish Way, and answered,
"Since I learnt to love the Verser." "Why, this is the best of Alle!" he
hastilie cried, "Can my sweet Wife be indeede Heart of my Heart and
Spirit of my Spirit? I lost, or drove away a Child, and have found a
Woman." Thereafter, he less often wifed me, and I found I was agayn
sweet _Moll_.
This Afternoon, _Christopher Milton_ lookt in on us. After saluting me
with the usuall Mixture of Malice and Civilitie in his Looks, he fell
into easie Conversation; and presentlie says to his Brother quietlie
enough, "I saw a curious Pennyworth at a Book-stall as I came along this
Morning." "What was that?" says my Husband, brightening up. "It had a
long Name," says _Christopher_,--"I think it was called _Tetrachordon_."
My Husband cast at me a suddain, quick Look, but I did not soe much as
change Colour; and quietlie continued my Sewing.
"I wonder," says he, after a Pause, "that you did not invest a small
Portion of your Capitall in the Work, as you 'ay 'twas soe greate a
Bargain. However, Mr. _Kit_, let me give you one small Hint with alle
the goode Humour imaginable; don't take Advantage of our neare and deare
Relation to make too frequent Opportunities of saying to me Anything that
woulde certainlie procure for another Man a Thrashing!"
Then, after a short Silence betweene Alle, he suddainlie burst out
laughing, and cried, "I know 'tis on the Stalk, I've seene it, _Kit_,
myself! Oh, had you seene, as I did, the Blockheads poring over the
Title, and hammering at it while you might have walked to _Mile End_ and
back!"
"That's Fame, I suppose," says _Christopher_ drylie; and then goes off to
talk of some new Exercise of the Press-licenser's Authoritie, which he
seemed to approve, but it kindled my Husband in a Minute.
"What Folly! what Nonsense!" cried he, smiting the Table; "these _Jacks_
in Office sometimes devise such senselesse Things that I really am
ashamed of being of theire Party. Licence, indeed! their Licence! I
suppose they will shortlie license the Lengthe of _Moll's_ Curls, and
regulate the Colour of her Hoode, and forbid the Larks to sing within
Sounde of _Bow Bell_, and the Bees to hum o' _Sundays_. Methoughte I had
broken _Mabbot's_ Teeth two Years agone; but I must bring forthe a new
Edition of my _Areopagitica_; and I'll put your Name down, _Kit_, for a
hundred Copies!"
_October, 1646_.
Though a rusticall Life hath ever had my Suffrages, Nothing can be more
pleasant than our regular Course. We rise at five or sooner: while my
Husband combs his Hair, he commonly hums or sings some Psalm or Hymn,
versing it, maybe, as he goes on. Being drest, _Ned_ reads him a Chapter
in the _Hebrew_ Bible. With _Ned_ stille at his Knee, and me by his
Side, he expounds and improves the Same; then, after a shorte, heartie
Prayer, releases us both. Before I have finished my Dressing, I hear him
below at his Organ, with the two Lads, who sing as well as Choristers,
hymning Anthems and _Gregorian_ Chants, now soaring up to the Clouds, as
'twere, and then dying off as though some wide echoing Space lay betweene
us. I usuallie find Time to tie on my Hoode and slip away to the
Herb-market for a Bunch of fresh Radishes or Cresses, a Sprig of Parsley,
or at the leaste a Posy, to lay on his Plate. A good wheaten Loaf, fresh
Butter and Eggs, and a large Jug of Milk, compose our simple Breakfast;
for he likes not, as my Father, to see Boys hacking a huge Piece of Beef,
nor cares for heavie feeding, himself. Onlie, olde Mr. _Milton_
sometimes takes a Rasher of toasted Bacon, but commonly, a Basin of
Furmity, which I prepare more to his Minde than the Servants can.
After Breakfast, I well know the Boys' Lessons will last till Noone. I
therefore goe to my Closett Duties after my _Forest Hill_ Fashion; thence
to Market, buy what I neede, come Home, look to my Maids, give forthe
needfulle Stores, then to my Needle, my Books, or perchance to my Lute,
which I woulde faine play better. From twelve to one is the Boys' Hour
of Pastime; and it may generallie be sayd, my Husband's and mine too. He
draws aside the green Curtain,--for we sit mostly in a large Chamber
shaped like the Letter T, and thus divided while at our separate Duties:
my End is the pleasantest, has the Sun most upon it, and hath a Balcony
overlooking a Garden. At one, we dine; always on simple, plain Dishes,
but drest with Neatnesse and Care. Olde Mr. _Milton_ sits at my right
Hand and says Grace; and, though growing a little deaf, enters into alle
the livelie Discourse at Table. He loves me to help him to the
tenderest, by Reason of his Losse of Teeth. My Husband careth not to
sitt over the Wine; and hath noe sooner finished the Cheese and Pippins
than he reverts to the Viol or Organ, and not onlie sings himself, but
will make me sing too, though he sayth my Voice is better than my Ear.
Never was there such a tunefulle Spiritt. He alwaies tears himself away
at laste, as with a Kind of Violence, and returns to his Books at six o'
the Clock. Meantime, his old Father dozes, and I sew at his Side.
From six to eight, we are seldom without Friends, chance Visitants, often
scholarlike and witty, who tell us alle the News, and remain to partake a
light Supper. The Boys enjoy this Season as much as I doe, though with
Books before them, their Hands over their Ears, pretending to con the
Morrow's Tasks. If the Guests chance to be musicalle, the Lute and Viol
are broughte forthe, to alternate with Roundelay and Madrigal: the old
Man beating Time with his feeble Fingers, and now and then joining with
his quavering Voice. (By the way, he hath not forgotten, to this Hour,
my imputed Crime of losing that Song by _Harry Lawes_: my Husband takes
my Part, and sayth it will turn up some Day when leaste expected, like
_Justinian's Pandects_.) _Hubert_ brings him his Pipe and a Glass of
Water, and then I crave his Blessing and goe to Bed; first, praying
ferventlie for alle beneathe this deare Roof, and then for alle at
_Sheepscote_ and _Forest Hill_.
On Sabbaths, besides the publick Ordinances of Devotion, which I cannot,
with alle my striving, bring myself to love like the Services to which I
have beene accustomed, we have much Reading, Singing, and Discoursing
among ourselves. The Maids sing, the Boys sing, _Hubert_ sings, olde Mr.
_Milton_ sings; and trulie with soe much of it, I woulde sometimes as
lief have them quiete. The _Sheepscote_ Sundays suited me better. The
Sabbath Exercise of the Boys is to read a Chapter in the _Greek_
Testament, heare my Husband expounde the same; and write out a System of
Divinitie as he dictates to them, walking to and fro. In listening
thereto, I find my Pleasure and Profitt.
I have alsoe my owne little Catechising, after a humbler Sorte, in the
Kitchen, and some poore Folk to relieve and console, with my Husband's
Concurrence and Encouragement. Thus, the Sabbath is devoutlie and
happilie passed.
My Husband alsoe takes, once in a Fortnighte or soe, what he blythelie
calls "a gaudy Day," equallie to his owne Content, the Boys', and mine.
On these Occasions, it is my Province to provide colde Fowls or Pigeon
Pie, which _Hubert_ carries, with what else we neede, to the Spot
selected for our Camp Dinner. Sometimes we take Boat to _Richmond_ or
_Greenwich_. Two young Gallants, Mr. _Alphrey_ and Mr. _Miller_, love to
joyn our Partie, and toil at the Oar, or scramble up the Hills, as
merrilie as the Boys. I must say they deal savagelie with the Pigeon Pie
afterwards. They have as wild Spiritts as our _Dick_ and _Harry_, but
withal a most wonderfull Reverence for my Husband, whom they courte to
read and recite, and provoke to pleasant Argument, never prolonged to
Wearinesse, and seasoned with Frolic Jest and Witt. Olde Mr. _Milton_
joyns not these Parties. I leave him alwaies to _Dolly's_ Care, firste
providing for him a Sweetbread or some smalle Relish, such as he loves.
He is in Bed ere we return, which is oft by Moonlighte.
How soone must Smiles give Way to Tears! Here is a Letter from deare
_Mother_, taking noe Note of what I write to her, and for good Reason,
she is soe distraught at her owne and deare _Father's_ ill Condition.
The Rebels (I must call them such,) have soe stript and opprest them,
they cannot make theire House tenantable; nor have Aught to feede on, had
they e'en a whole Roof over theire Heads. The Neighbourhoode is too hot
to holde them; olde Friends cowardlie and suspicious, olde and new Foes
in League together. Leave _Oxon_ they must; but where to goe? _Father_,
despite his broken Health and Hatred of the Foreigner, must needes depart
beyond Seas; at leaste within the six Months; but how, with an emptie
Purse, make his Way in a strange Land, with a Wife and seven Children at
his Heels? Soe ends _Mother_ with a "_Lord_ have Mercy upon us!" as
though her House were as surelie doomed to destruction as if it helde the
Plague.
Mine Eyes were yet swollen with Tears, when my Husband stept in. He
askt, "What ails you, precious Wife?" I coulde but sigh, and give him
the Letter. Having read the Same, he says, "But what, my dearest? Have
we not ample Room here for them alle? I speak as to Generalls, you must
care for Particulars, and stow them as you will. There are plenty of
small Rooms for the Boys; but, if your Father, being infirm, needes a
Ground-floor Chamber, you and I will mount aloft."
I coulde but look my Thankfullenesse and kiss his Hand. "Nay," he added,
with increasing Gentlenesse, "think not I have seene your Cares for my
owne Father without loving and blessing you. Let Mr. _Powell_ come and
see us happie; it may tend to make him soe. Let him and his abide with
us, at the leaste, till the Spring; his Lads will studdy and play with
mine, your Mother will help you in your Housewiferie, the two olde Men
will chirp together beside the _Christmasse_ Hearth; and, if I find thy
Weeklie Bills the heavier 'twill be but to write another Book, and make a
better Bargain for it than I did for the last. We will use Hospitalitie
without grudging; and, as for your owne Increase of Cares, I suppose
'twill be but to order two Legs of Mutton insteade of one!"
And soe, with a Laugh, left me, most joyfulle, happy Wife! to drawe
Sweete out of Sowre, Delighte out of Sorrowe; and to summon mine owne
Kindred aboute me, and wipe away theire Tears, bid them eat, drink, and
be merry, and shew myselfe to them, how proud, how cherished a Wife!
Surelie my Mother wille learne to love _John Milton_ at last! If she
doth not, this will be my secret Crosse, for 'tis hard to love dearlie
two Persons who esteeme not one another. But she will, she must, not
onlie respect him for his Uprightnesse and Magnanimitie, coupled with
what himselfe calls "an honest Haughtinesse and Self-esteeme," but _like_
him for his kind and equall Temper, (_not_ "harsh and crabbed," as I have
hearde her call it,) his easie Flow of Mirthe, his Manners, unaffectedlie
cheerfulle; his Voice, musicall; his Person, beautifull; his Habitt,
gracefull; his Hospitalitie, naturall to him; his Purse, Countenance,
Time, Trouble, at his Friend's Service; his Devotion, humble; his
Forgivenesse, heavenlie! May it please _God_, that my Mother shall like
_John Milton_! . . .