Half dead with Fatigue and Griefe when I reached Home, the tender
Embraces of my Father and Mother completed the Overthrowe of my
Spiritts. I tooke to my Bed; and this is the first Daye I have left
it; nor will they let me send for Rose, nor even tell her I am ill.
Jan. 1, 1644.
The new Year opens drearilie, on Affairs both publick and private. The Loaf parted at Breakfast this Morning, which, as the Saying goes, is a Sign of Separation; but Mother onlie sayd 'twas because it was badly kneaded, and chid Margery. She hath beene telling me, but now, how I mighte have 'scaped all my Troubles, and seene as much as I woulde of her and Father, and yet have contented Mr. Milton and beene counted a good Wife. Noe Advice soe ill to bear as that which comes too late.
Jan. 7, 1644.
I am sick of this journalling, soe shall onlie put downe the Date of Robin's leaving Home. Lord have Mercy on him, and keepe him in Safetie. This is a shorte Prayer; therefore, easier to be often repeated. When he kissed me, he whispered, "Moll, pray for me."
Jan. 27, 1644.
Father does not seeme to miss Robin much, tho' he dailie drinks his Health after that of the King. Perhaps he did not miss me anie more when I was in London, though it was true and naturall enough he should like to see me agayn. We should have beene used to our Separation by this Time; there would have beene nothing corroding in it. . . .
I pray for Robin everie Night. Since he went, the House has lost its Sunshine. When I was soe anxious to return to Forest Hill, I never counted on his leaving it.
Feb. 1, 1644.
Oh Heaven, what would I give to see the Skirts of Mr. Milton's
Garments agayn! My Heart is sick unto Death. I have been reading some
of my Journall, and tearing out much childish Nonsense at the
Beginning; but coulde not destroy the painfulle Records of the last
Year. How unhappy a Creature am I!—wearie, wearie of my Life, yet no
Ways inclined for Death. Lord, have Mercy upon me.