Kentish-towne,
showing me the place and manner of Clun's being killed and laid in a
ditch, and yet was not killed by any wounds, having only one in his arm,
but bled to death through his struggling. He told me, also, the manner
of it, of his going home so late [from] drinking with his whore, and
manner of having it found out. Thence forward to Barnett, and there
drank, and so by night to Stevenage, it raining a little, but not much,
and there to my great trouble, find that my wife was not come, nor any
Stamford coach gone down this week, so that she cannot come. So vexed
and weary, and not thoroughly out of pain neither in my old parts, I
after supper to bed, and after a little sleep, W. Joyce comes in his
shirt into my chamber, with a note and a messenger from my wife, that
she was come by Yorke coach to Bigglesworth, and would be with us
to-morrow morning. So, mightily pleased at her discreete action in this
business, I with peace to sleep again till next morning. So up, and

6th. Here lay Deane Honiwood last night. I met and talked with him this
morning, and a simple priest he is, though a good, well-meaning man. W.
Joyce and I to a game at bowles on the green there till eight o'clock,
and then comes my wife in the coach, and a coach full of women, only one
man riding by, gone down last night to meet a sister of his coming to
town. So very joyful drank there, not 'lighting, and we mounted and away
with them to Welling, and there 'light, and dined very well and merry
and glad to see my poor-wife. Here very merry as being weary I could be,
and after dinner, out again, and to London. In our way all the way the
mightiest merry, at a couple of young gentlemen, come down to meet the
same gentlewoman, that ever I was in my life, and so W. Joyce too, to
see how one of them was horsed upon a hard-trotting sorrell horse, and
both of them soundly weary and galled. But it is not to be set down how
merry we were all the way. We 'light in Holborne, and by another coach
my wife and mayde home, and I by horseback, and found all things well
and most mighty neate and clean. So, after welcoming my wife a little,
to the office, and so home to supper, and then weary and not very well
to bed.

7th (Lord's day). Lay long caressing my wife and talking, she telling me
sad stories of the ill, improvident, disquiett, and sluttish manner that
my father and mother and Pall live in the country, which troubles me
mightily, and I must seek to reme