not endure it. She, poor wretch,

[A new light is thrown upon this favourite expression of Pepys's
when speaking of his wife by the following quotation from a Midland
wordbook: "Wretch, n., often used as an expression of endearment or
sympathy. Old Woman to Young Master: 'An''ow is the missis to-day,
door wretch?' Of a boy going to school a considerable distance off
'I met 'im with a bit o' bread in 'is bag, door wretch'" ("A
Glossary of Words and Phrases used in S.E. Worcestershire," by Jesse
Salisbury. Published by the English Dialect Society, 1894).]

was surprized with it, and made me no answer all the way home; but there
we parted, and I to the office late, and then home, and without supper
to bed, vexed.

12th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, to settle some accounts there,
and by and by down comes my wife to me in her night-gown, and we begun
calmly, that upon having money to lace her gown for second mourning, she
would promise to wear white locks no more in my sight, which I, like a
severe fool, thinking not enough, begun to except against, and made her
fly out to very high terms and cry, and in her heat told me of keeping
company with Mrs. Knipp, saying, that if I would promise never to see
her more--of whom she hath more reason to suspect than I had heretofore
of Pembleton--she would never wear white locks more. This vexed me, but
I restrained myself from saying anything, but do think never to see this
woman--at least, to have her here more, but by and by I did give her
money to buy lace, and she promised to wear no more white locks while I
lived, and so all very good friends as ever, and I to my business, and
she to dress herself. Against noon we had a coach ready for us, and she
and I to White Hall, where I went to see whether Sir G. Carteret was at
dinner or no, our design being to make a visit there, and I found them
set down, which troubled me, for I would not then go up, but back to the
coach to my wife, and she and I homeward again, and in our way bethought
ourselves of going alone, she and I, to go to a French house to dinner,
and so enquired out Monsieur Robins, my perriwigg-maker, who keeps an
ordinary, and in an ugly street in Covent Garden, did find him at the
door, and so we in; and in a moment almost had the table covered, and
clean glasses, and all in the French manner, and a mess of potage
first, and then a couple of pigeons a la esterve, and then