Up, and at the office all the morning; whereby several circumstances I find Sir W. Coventry and the Duke of Albemarle do not agree as they used to do; Sir W. Coventry commending Aylett (in some reproach to the Duke), whom the Duke hath put out for want of courage; and found fault with Steward, whom the Duke keeps in, though as much in fault as any commander in the fleete.
At noon home to dinner, my father, sister, and wife dining at Sarah Giles’s, poor woman, where I should have been, but my pride would not suffer me.
After dinner to Mr. Debasty’s to speake with Sir Robert Viner, a fine house and a great many fine ladies. He used me mighty civilly. My business was to set the matter right about the letter of credit he did give my Lord Belassis, that I may take up the tallys lodged with Viner for his security in the answering of my Lord’s bills, which we did set right very well, and Sir Robert Viner went home with me and did give me the 5000l. tallys presently. Here at Mr. Debasty’s I saw, in a gold frame, a picture of a Fluter playing on his flute which, for a good while, I took for paynting, but at last observed it a piece of tapestry, and is the finest that ever I saw in my life for figures, and good natural colours, and a very fine thing it is indeed.
So home and met Sir George Smith by the way, who tells me that this day my Lord Chancellor and some of the Court have been with the City, and the City have voted to lend the King 100,000l.; which, if soon paid (as he says he believes it will), will be a greater service than I did ever expect at this time from the City.
So home to my letters and then with my wife in the garden, and then upon our leades singing in the evening and so to supper (while at supper comes young Michell, whose wife I love, little Betty Howlet, to get my favour about a ticket, and I am glad of this occasion of obliging him and give occasion of his coming to me, for I must be better acquainted with him and her), and after supper to bed.
I find home
in a gold frame
a painting as natural
as a great garden
while you who I love howl
about a tick
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 21 June 1666.