"In the first rank of these did Zimri stand;
A man so various that he seemed to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome;
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong;
Was everything by starts, and nothing long,

But, in the course of one revolving moon,
Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon;
Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking,
Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking,
* * * * * * *
He laughed himself from Court, then sought relief
By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief."

Pope's facts are not correct, and hence the effect of his picture is
impaired. In spite of the duke's constant visits to the Tower,
Charles II. still continued his friend; but on the death of the
king, expecting little from James, he retired to his estate at
Helmsley, in Yorkshire, to nurse his property and to restore his
constitution. He died on April 16th, 1687, at Kirkby Moorside,
after a few days' illness, caused by sitting on the damp grass when
heated from a fox chase. The scene of his death was the house of a
tenant, not "the worst inn's worst room" ("Moral Essays," epist.
iii.). He was buried in Westminster Abbey.]

Here I passed away a little time more talking with him and Creed, whom I
met there, and so away, Creed walking with me to White Hall, and there
I took water and stayed at Michell's to drink. I home, and there to read
very good things in Fuller's "Church History," and "Worthies," and so
to supper, and after supper had much good discourse with W. Hewer, who
supped with us, about the ticket office and the knaveries and extortions
every day used there, and particularly of the business of Mr. Carcasse,
whom I fear I shall find a very rogue. So parted with him, and then to
bed.

4th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes and [Sir] W. Batten by barge to Deptford
by eight in the morning, where to the King's yard a little to look
after business there, and then to a private storehouse to look upon some
cordage of Sir W. Batten's, and there being a hole formerly made for
a drain for tarr to run into, wherein the barrel stood still, full of
stinking water, Sir W. Batten did fall with one leg into it, which might
have been very bad to him by breaking a leg or other hurt, but, thanks
be to