Up, having slept not so much to-night as I used to do, for my thoughts being so full of this pretty little girle that is coming to live with us, which pleases me mightily. All the morning at the Office, busy upon an Order of Council, wherein they are mightily at a loss what to advise about our discharging of seamen by ticket, there being no money to pay their wages before January, only there is money to pay them since January, provided by the Parliament, which will be a horrid disgrace to the King and Crowne of England that no man shall reckon himself safe, but where the Parliament takes care. And this did move Mr. Wren at the table to-day to say, that he did believe if ever there be occasion more to raise money, it will become here, as it is in Poland, that there are two treasurers — one for the King, and the other for the kingdom. At noon dined at home, and Mr. Hater with me, and Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, dropped in, who I feared did come to bespeak me to be godfather to his son, which I am unwilling now to be, having ended my liking to his wife, since I find she paints.
After dinner comes Sir Fr. Hollis to me about business; and I with him by coach to the Temple, and there I ’light; all the way he telling me romantic lies of himself and his family, how they have been Parliamentmen for Grimsby, he and his forefathers, this 140 years; and his father is now: and himself, at this day, stands for to be, with his father, by the death of his fellow-burgess; and that he believes it will cost him as much as it did his predecessor, which was 300l. in ale, and 52l. in buttered ale; which I believe is one of his devilish lies. Here I ’light and to the Duke of York’s playhouse, and there saw a piece of “Sir Martin Marrall,” with great delight, though I have seen it so often, and so home, and there busy late, and so home to my supper and bed.
to live with January
only by the grace of a wren
I believe no romantic lies
of family and forefathers
death will cost
as much as light
to use a piece of delight
I have seen so often
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 28 September 1667.