calling on Roger Pepys, and visiting Mrs. Creed and my cousin
Turner. Thus endeth this month with very good content, but most
expenseful to my purse on things of pleasure, having furnished my wife's
closet and the best chamber, and a coach and horses that ever I knew in
the world; and I am put into the greatest condition of outward state
that ever I was in, or hoped ever to be. But my eyes are come to that
condition that I am not able to work. God do His will in it!

_December 2._ Abroad with my wife, the first time that ever I rode in my
own coach, which do make my heart rejoice and praise God. So she and I
to the king's playhouse, and there saw "The Usurper," a pretty good
play. Then we to White Hall; where my wife stayed while I up to the
duchess, to speak with the Duke of York; and here saw all the ladies,
and heard the silly discourse of the king with his people about him.

_December 21._ To the Duke's playhouse, and saw "Macbeth." The king and
court there, and we sat just under them and my Lady Castlemaine. And my
wife, by my troth, appeared, I think, as pretty as any of them; I never
thought so much before, and so did Talbot and W. Hewer. The king and
Duke of York minded me, and smiled upon me; but it vexed me to see Moll
Davis in the box over the king and my Lady Castlemaine, look down upon
the king, and he up to her. And so did my Lady Castlemaine once; but
when she saw Moll Davis she looked like fire, which troubled me.

_May 31, 1669._ Up very betimes, and continued all the morning examining
my accounts, in order to the fitting myself to go abroad beyond sea,
which the ill-condition of my eyes and my neglect hath kept me
behindhand in. Had another meeting with the Duke of York at White Hall
on yesterday's work, and made a good advance; and so being called by my
wife, we to the park, Mary Batelier and a Dutch gentleman, a friend of
hers, being with us. Thence to "The World's End," a drinking house by
the park; and there merry, and so home late.

And thus ends all that I doubt I shall ever be able to do with my own
eyes in the keeping of my journal, having done now so long as to undo my
eyes almost every time that I take a pen in my hand; and therefore
resolve, from this time forward to have it kept by my people in
longhand, and must be contented to set down no more than is fit for them
and all the world to know. And so I betake myself to that course, which
is almost as much as to see myself go into my grave;