So home, and after supper did wash my feet, and so to bed Softly up to see whether any of the beds were out of order or no Statute against selling of offices The goldsmith, he being one of the jury to-morrow Thence by coach, with a mad coachman, that drove like mad Therefore ought not to expect more justice from her They say now a common mistress to the King Through the Fleete Ally to see a couple of pretty [strumpets] Upon a small temptation I could be false to her Waked this morning between four and five by my blackbird Whose voice I am not to be reconciled Wife and the dancing-master alone above, not dancing but talking Would not make my coming troublesome to any DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS, JUL/AUG 1663 [sp27g10.txt] And so to bed and there entertained her with great content Apprehend about one hundred Quakers Being cleansed of lice this day by my wife Conceited, but that's no matter to me Fear it may do him no good, but me hurt Fearful that I might not go far enough with my hat off He having made good promises, though I fear his performance My wife has got too great head to be brought down soon So much is it against my nature to owe anything to any body Sporting in my fancy with the Queen Things being dear and little attendance to be had we went away Towzing her and doing what I would, but the last thing of all. . . . DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS, SEP/OCT 1663 [sp28g10.txt] And so to sleep till the morning, but was bit cruelly And there, did what I would with her Content as to be at our own home, after being abroad awhile Found guilty, and likely will be hanged (for stealing spoons) Half a pint of Rhenish wine at the Still-yard, mixed with beer His readiness to speak spoilt all No more matter being made of the death of one than another Out of an itch to look upon the sluts there Plague is much in Amsterdam, and we in fears of it here Pride himself too much in it Reckon nothing money but when it is in the bank Resolve to live well and die a beggar Scholler, that would needs put in his discourse (every occasion) She was so ill as to be shaved and pidgeons put to her feet The plague is got to Amsterdam, brought by a ship from Argier We having no luck in maids now-a-days Who is over head and eares in getting her house up DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS, NOV/DEC 1663 [sp29g10.txt]