d, it being cold now in the mornings . . . .
Up by and by, and with Mr. Gawden by coach to St. James's, where we find
the Duke gone a-hunting with the King, but found Sir W. Coventry within,
with whom we discoursed, and he did largely discourse with us about our
speedy falling upon considering of retrenchments in the expense of the
Navy, which I will put forward as much as I can. So having done there I
to Westminster Hall to Burges, and then walked to the New Exchange, and
there to my bookseller's, and did buy Scott's Discourse of Witches; and do
hear Mr. Cowley mightily lamented his death, by Dr. Ward, the Bishop of
Winchester, and Dr. Bates, who were standing there, as the best poet of
our nation, and as good a man. Thence I to the printseller's, over
against the Exchange towards Covent Garden, and there bought a few more
prints of cittys, and so home with them, and my wife and maids being gone
over the water to the whitster's

[A bleacher of linen. "The whitsters of Datchet Mead" are referred
to by Mrs. Ford ("Merry Wives of Windsor," act iii., sc. 3).]

with their clothes, this being the first time of her trying this way of
washing her linen, I dined at Sir W. Batten's, and after dinner, all alone
to the King's playhouse, and there did happen to sit just before Mrs.
Pierce, and Mrs. Knepp, who pulled me by the hair; and so I addressed
myself to them, and talked to them all the intervals of the play, and did
give them fruit. The play is "Brenoralt," which I do find but little in,
for my part. Here was many fine ladies-among others, the German Baron,
with his lady, who is envoye from the Emperour, and their fine daughter,
which hath travelled all Europe over with them, it seems; and is
accordingly accomplished, and indeed, is a wonderful pretty woman. Here
Sir Philip Frowde, who sat next to me, did tell me how Sir H. Belasses is
dead, and that the quarrel between him and Tom Porter, who is fled, did
arise in the ridiculous fashion that I was first told it, which is a
strange thing between two so good friends. The play being done, I took
the women, and Mrs. Corbett, who was with them, by coach, it raining, to
Mrs. Manuel's, the Jew's wife, formerly a player, who we heard sing with
one of the Italians that was there; and, indeed, she sings mightily well;
and just after the Italian manner, but yet do not please me like one of
Mrs. Knepp's songs, to a good English tune, the manner of their ayre not
pleas