. . .
Saying me to be the fittest man in England
Searchers with their rods in their hands
See how a good dinner and feasting reconciles everybody
Sicke men that are recovered, they lying before our office doors
So to bed, to be up betimes by the helpe of a larum watch
So great a trouble is fear
The coachman that carried [us] cannot know me again
The boy is well, and offers to be searched
This absence makes us a little strange instead of more fond
Those bred in the North among the colliers are good for labour
Though neither of us care 2d. one for another
Tied our men back to back, and thrown them all into the sea
Told us he had not been in a bed in the whole seven years
Too much of it will make her know her force too much
Two shops in three, if not more, generally shut up
Up, leaving my wife in bed, being sick of her months
Wanton as ever she was, with much I made myself merry and away
Well enough pleased this morning with their night's lodging
What silly discourse we had by the way as to love-matters
When she least shews it hath her wit at work
Where money is free, there is great plenty
Which may teach me how I make others wait
Who is the most, and promises the least, of any man
Wife that brings me nothing almost (besides a comely person)
DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS, JAN/FEB 1965/66 [sp48g10.
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