y. But I did never heare one
sing with so much pleasure to herself as this lady do, relishing it to her
very heart, which was mighty pleasant.

16th. Up about seven o'clock; and, after drinking, and I observing Mr.
Povy's being mightily mortifyed in his eating and drinking, and coaches
and horses, he desiring to sell his best, and every thing else, his
furniture of his house, he walked with me to Syon,

[Sion House, granted by Edward VI. to his uncle, the Duke of
Somerset. After his execution, 1552, it was forfeited, and given to
John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland. The duke being beheaded in
1553, it reverted to the Crown, and was granted in 1604 to Henry
Percy, Earl of Northumberland. It still belongs to the Duke of
Northumberland.]

and there I took water, in our way he discoursing of the wantonnesse of
the Court, and how it minds nothing else, and I saying that that would
leave the King shortly if he did not leave it, he told me "No," for the
King do spend most of his time in feeling and kissing them naked . . .
But this lechery will never leave him. Here I took boat (leaving him
there) and down to the Tower, where I hear the Duke of Albemarle is, and I
to Lumbard Streete, but can get no money. So upon the Exchange, which is
very empty, God knows! and but mean people there. The newes for certain
that the Dutch are come with their fleete before Margett, and some men
were endeavouring to come on shore when the post come away, perhaps to
steal some sheep. But, Lord! how Colvill talks of the businesse of
publique revenue like a madman, and yet I doubt all true; that nobody
minds it, but that the King and Kingdom must speedily be undone, and rails
at my Lord about the prizes, but I think knows not my relation to him.
Here I endeavoured to satisfy all I could, people about Bills of Exchange
from Tangier, but it is only with good words, for money I have not, nor
can get. God knows what will become of all the King's matters in a little
time, for he runs in debt every day, and nothing to pay them looked after.
Thence I walked to the Tower; but, Lord! how empty the streets are and
melancholy, so many poor sick people in the streets full of sores; and so
many sad stories overheard as I walk, every body talking of this dead, and
that man sick, and so many in this place, and so many in that. And they
tell me that, in Westminster, there is never a physician and but one
apothecary left,