Westminster Hall, where
I expected some bands made me by Mrs. Lane, and while she went to the
starchers for them, I staid at Mrs. Howlett's, who with her husband were
abroad, and only their daughter (which I call my wife) was in the shop,
and I took occasion to buy a pair of gloves to talk to her, and I find
her a pretty spoken girl, and will prove a mighty handsome wench. I
could love her very well. By and by Mrs. Lane comes, and my bands not
being done she and I posted and met at the Crown in the Palace Yard,
where we eat a chicken I sent for, and drank, and were mighty merry,
and I had my full liberty of towzing her and doing what I would, but the
last thing of all.... Of which I am heartily ashamed, but I do resolve
never to do more so. But, Lord! to see what a mind she has to a husband,
and how she showed me her hands to tell her her fortune, and every
thing that she asked ended always whom and when she was to marry. And I
pleased her so well, saying as. I know she would have me, and then
she would say that she had been with all the artists in town, and they
always told her the same things, as that she should live long, and rich,
and have a good husband, but few children, and a great fit of sickness,
and 20 other things, which she says she has always been told by others.
Here I staid late before my bands were done, and then they came, and so
I by water to the Temple, and thence walked home, all in a sweat with my
tumbling of her and walking, and so a little supper and to bed, fearful
of having taken cold.

19th (Lord's day). Lay very long in pleasant dreams till Church time,
and so up, and it being foul weather so that I cannot walk as I intended
to meet my Cozen Roger at Thomas Pepys's house (whither he rode last
night), to Hatcham, I went to church, where a sober Doctor made a good
sermon. So home to dinner alone, and then to read a little, and so to
church again, where the Scot made an ordinary sermon, and so home to my
office, and there read over my vows and increased them by a vow against
all strong drink till November next of any sort or quantity, by which I
shall try how I can forbear it. God send it may not prejudice my health,
and then I care not. Then I fell to read over a silly play writ by a
person of honour (which is, I find, as much as to say a coxcomb), called
"Love a la Mode,"' and that being ended, home, and played on my lute and
sung psalms till bedtime, then to prayers and to bed.

20th. Up and