Travel Song

This morning I called up my boy, and found him a pretty, well-looked boy, and one that I think will please me.
I went this morning by land to Westminster along with Luellin, who came to my house this morning to get me to go with him to Capt. Allen to speak with him for his brother to go with him to Constantinople, but could not find him. We walked on to Fleet street, where at Mr. Standing’s in Salsbury Court we drank our morning draft and had a pickled herring. Among other discourse here he told me how the pretty woman that I always loved at the beginning of Cheapside that sells child’s coats was served by the Lady Bennett (a famous strumpet), who by counterfeiting to fall into a swoon upon the sight of her in her shop, became acquainted with her, and at last got her ends of her to lie with a gentleman that had hired her to procure this poor soul for him. To Westminster to my Lord’s, and there in the house of office vomited up all my breakfast, my stomach being ill all this day by reason of the last night’s debauch. Here I sent to Mr. Bowyer’s for my chest and put up my books and sent them home. I staid here all day in my Lord’s chamber and upon the leads gazing upon Diana, who looked out of a window upon me. At last I went out to Mr. Harper’s, and she standing over the way at the gate, I went over to her and appointed to meet to-morrow in the afternoon at my Lord’s. Here I bought a hanging jack. From thence by coach home (by the way at the New Exchange I bought a pair of short black stockings, to wear over a pair of silk ones for mourning; and here I met with The. Turner and Joyce, buying of things to go into mourning too for the Duke, which is now the mode of all the ladies in town), where I wrote some letters by the post to Hinchinbroke to let them know that this day Mr. Edw. Pickering is come from my Lord, and says that he left him well in Holland, and that he will be here within three or four days.
To-day not well of my last night’s drinking yet. I had the boy up to-night for his sister to teach him to put me to bed, and I heard him read, which he did pretty well.

This morning I will go
to Constantinople
where the woman I love
sells child’s coats.
Last night
I sent for my chest
and put on my black silk for joy.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 22 September 1660.

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