Mole

(Lord’s day). In the morning to Paul’s, where I heard a pretty good sermon, and thence to dinner with my Lady at the Wardrobe; and after much talk with her after dinner, I went to the Temple to Church, and there heard another: by the same token a boy, being asleep, fell down a high seat to the ground, ready to break his neck, but got no hurt.
Thence to Graye’s Inn walkes; and there met Mr. Pickering and walked with him two hours till 8 o’clock till I was quite weary. His discourse most about the pride of the Duchess of York; and how all the ladies envy my Lady Castlemaine. He intends to go to Portsmouth to meet the Queen this week; which is now the discourse and expectation of the town.
So home, and no sooner come but Sir W. Warren comes to me to bring me a paper of Field’s (with whom we have lately had a great deal of trouble at the office), being a bitter petition to the King against our office for not doing justice upon his complaint to us of embezzlement of the King’s stores by one Turpin. I took Sir William to Sir W. Pen’s (who was newly come from Walthamstow), and there we read it and discoursed, but we do not much fear it, the King referring it to the Duke of York. So we drank a glass or two of wine, and so home and I to bed, my wife being in bed already.

I went to ground, ready to break
the gray clock.
My mouth is a warren.
Bring me a field,
a bitter plain to bezzle in
and fear rank as wine.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 13 April 1662.

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