Poor _Will_, I never see him look grave now, nor heare him sighe, without thinking I know the Cause of his secret Discontentation. He hath, I believe, followed my Council to the Letter, for though the Men's Quarter of the House is soe far aparte from ours, it hath come rounde to me through _Barbara_, who had it from her Brother, that Mr. _Roper_ hath of late lien on the Ground, and used a knotted Cord. As 'tis one of the Acts of Mercy to relieve others, when we can, from Satanic Doubts and Inquietations, I have been at some Payns to make an Abstracte of such Passages from the Fathers, and such Narratives of noted and undeniable Miracles as cannot, I think, but carry Conviction with them, and I hope they may minister to his Soul's Comfort. _Tuesday, 4th._ Supped with my Lord _Sands_. _Mother_ played Mumchance with my Lady, but _Father_, who saith he woulde rather feast a hundred poor Men than eat at one rich Man's Table, came not in till late, on Plea of Businesse. My Lord tolde him the King had visitted him not long agone, and was soe well content with his Manor as to wish it were his owne, for the singular fine Ayr and pleasant growth of Wood. In fine, wound up the Evening with Musick. My Lady hath a Pair of fine-toned Clavichords, and a Mandoline that stands five Feet high; the largest in _England_, except that of the Lady _Mary Dudley_. The Sound, indeed, is powerfull, but methinketh the Instrument ungaynlie for a Woman. Lord _Sands_ sang us a new Ballad, "_The King's Hunt's up_," which _Father_ affected hugelie. I lacked Spiritt to sue my Lord for the Words, he being soe free-spoken as alwaies to dash me; howbeit, I mind they ran somewhat thus.... "_The Hunt is up, the Hunt is up, And it is well nigh Daye, Harry our King has gone hunting To bring his Deere to baye. The East is bright with Morning Lighte, And Darkness it is fled, And the merrie Horn wakes up the Morn To leave his idle Bed. Beholde the Skies with golden Dyes, Are...._" --The Rest hath escaped me, albeit I know there was some Burden of Hey-tantara, where my Lord did stamp and snap his Fingers. He is a merry Heart. [Illustration: "Lord Sands sang us a New Ballad."] [Illustration] _1524, October._ Sayth Lord _Rutland_ to my Father, in his acute sneering Way, "Ah, ah, Sir _Thomas_, _Honores mutant Mores_." "Not so, in Faith, my Lord," returns _Father_, "but have a care lest we translate the Proverb, and say Honours change _Manners_."