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Diary of Samuel Pepys — Volume 55: July 1667 by Samuel Pepys
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2nd. Up, and put on my new silke camelott suit, made of my cloak, and
suit now made into a vest. So to the office, where W. Pen and myself, and
Sir T. Harvy met, the first time we have had a meeting since the coming of
the Dutch upon this coast. Our only business (for we have little else to
do, nobody being willing to trust us for anything) was to speak with the
owners of six merchantmen which we have been taking up this fortnight, and
are yet in no readiness, they not fitting their ships without money
advanced to them, we owing them for what their ships have earned the last
year. So every thing stands still for money, while we want money to pay
for some of the most necessary things that we promised ready money for in
the height of our wants, as grapnells, &c. At noon home to dinner, and
after dinner my wife and Jane (mighty fine the girle) to go to see Jane's
old mistress, who was to see her, and did see my wife the other day, and
it is pleasant to hear with what kindness her old mistress speaks of this
girle, and how she would still have her, and how the wench cried when she
told her that she must come to her old mistress my wife. They gone, I to
my chamber, and there dallied a little with my maid Nell . . . . and
so to the office where busy till night, and then comes Mrs. Turner, and
walks with me in the garden to talk with me about her husband's business,
and to tell me how she hears at the other end of the town how bad our
office is spoken of by the King and Prince and Duke of Albemarle, and that
there is not a good word said of any of us but of me; and me they all do
speak mightily of, which, whether true or no, I am mighty glad to hear,
but from all put together that I hear from other people, I am likely to
pass as well as anybody. So, she gone, comes my wife and to walk in the
garden, Sir J. Minnes being still ill and so keeping us from singing, and
by and by Sir W. Pen come and walked with us and gave us a bottle of
Syder, and so we home to supper and to bed. This day I am told that poor
Tooker is dead, a very painfull poor man as ever I knew.
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