book set out by
Will. Pen, for the Quaker

Rotten teeth and false, set in with
wire

Sad sight it was: the whole City almost
on fire

Sad for want of my wife, whom I love
with all my heart

Said to die with the cleanest hands
that ever any Lord Treasurer

Saw "Mackbeth," to our great content

Saw two battles of cocks, wherein is no
great sport

Saw his people go up and down louseing
themselves

Saying, that for money he might be got
to our side

Says, of all places, if there be hell,
it is here

Says of wood, that it is an excrescence
of the earth

Sceptic in all things of religion

Scotch song of "Barbary Allen"

Searchers with their rods in their
hands

See whether my wife did wear drawers
to-day as she used to do

See how a good dinner and feasting
reconciles everybody

See how time and example may alter a
man

Sent my wife to get a place to see
Turner hanged

Sent me last night, as a bribe, a
barrel of sturgeon

Sermon without affectation or study

Sermon ended, and the church broke up,
and my amours ended also

Sermon upon Original Sin, neither
understood by himself

Sermon; but, it being a Presbyterian
one, it was so long

Shakespeare's plays

Shame such a rogue should give me and
all of us this trouble

She is conceited that she do well
already

She used the word devil, which vexed me

She was so ill as to be shaved and
pidgeons put to her feet

She begins not at all to take pleasure
in me or study to please

She is a very good companion as long as
she is well

She also washed my feet in a bath of
herbs, and so to bed

She had got and used some puppy-dog
water

She hath got her teeth new done by La
Roche

She loves to be taken dressing herself,
as I always find her

She so cruel a hypocrite that she can
cry when she pleases

She finds that I am lousy

Short of what I expected, as for the
most part it do fall out

Shy of any warr hereafter, or to
prepare better for it

Sick of it and of him for it

Sicke men that are recovered, they
lying before our office doors

Silence; it being seldom any wrong to a
man to say nothing

Singing with many voices is not singing

Sir W. Pen was so fuddled that we could
not try him to play

Sir W. Pen did it like a base raskall,
and so I shall remember

Sit up till 2 o'clock that she may call
the wench up to wash

Slabbering my band sent home for
another

Smoke jack consists of a wind-wheel