Saturday.
Last Visitt to _Sheepscote,—_at leaste, as Mary Powell; but kind Rose and Roger Agnew will give us the Use of it for a Week on our Marriage, and spend the Time with dear Father and Mother, who will neede their Kindnesse. Rose and I walked long aboute the Garden, her Arm round my Neck; and she was avised to say,
"Cloth of Frieze, be not too bold,
Tho' thou be matcht with Cloth of Gold,—"
And then craved my Pardon for soe unmannerly a Rhyme, which indeede, methoughte, needed an Excuse, but exprest a Feare that I knew not (what she called) my high Destiny, and prayed me not to trifle with Mr. Milton's Feelings nor in his Sighte, as I had done the Daye she dined at Forest Hill. I laught, and sayd, he must take me as he found me: he was going to marry Mary Powell, not the Wise Widow of Tekoah. Rose lookt wistfullie, but I bade her take Heart, for I doubted not we shoulde content eache the other; and for the Rest, her Advice shoulde not be forgotten. Thereat, she was pacyfied.
May 22d, 1643.
Alle Bustle and Confusion,—slaying of Poultrie, making of Pastrie, etc. People coming and going, prest to dine and to sup, and refuse, and then stay, the colde Meats and Wines ever on the Table; and in the Evening, the Rebecks and Recorders sent for that we may dance in the Hall. My Spiritts have been most unequall; and this Evening I was overtaken with a suddain Faintnesse, such as I never but once before experienced. They would let me dance no more; and I was quite tired enoughe to be glad to sit aparte with Mr. Milton neare the Doore, with the Moon shining on us; untill at length he drew me out into the Garden. He spake of Happinesse and Home, and Hearts knit in Love, and of heavenlie Espousals, and of Man being the Head of the Woman, and of our Lord's Marriage with the Church, and of white Robes, and the Bridegroom coming in Clouds of Glory, and of the Voices of singing Men and singing Women, and eternall Spring, and eternall Blisse, and much that I cannot call to Mind, and other-much that I coulde not comprehende, but which was in mine ears as the Song of Birds, or Falling of Waters.
May 23d, 1643.
Rose hath come, and hath kindlie offered to help pack the Trunks, (which are to be sent off by the Waggon to London,) that I may have the more Time to devote to Mr. Milton. Nay, but he will soon have all my Time devoted to himself, and I would as lief spend what little remains in mine accustomed Haunts, after mine accustomed Fashion. I had purposed a Ride on Clover this Morning, with Robin; but the poor Boy must I trow be disappointed.
——And for what? Oh me! I have hearde such a long Sermon on Marriage-duty and Service, that I am faine to sit down and weepe. But no, I must not, for they are waiting for me in the Hall, and the Guests are come and the Musick is tuning, and my Lookes must not betray me.—And now farewell, Journall; for Rose, who first bade me keepe you (little deeming after what Fashion), will not pack you up, and I will not close you with a heavie Strayn. Robin is calling me beneath the Window,—Father is sitting in the Shade, under the old Pear-tree, seemingly in gay Discourse with Mr. Milton. To-morrow the Village-bells will ring for the Marriage of