March 27, 1644.
I spend much of my Time, now, in the Book-room, and, though I essay not to pursue the Latin, I read much English, at the least, more than ever I did in my Life before; but often I fancy I am reading when I am onlie dreaming. Oxford is far too gay a Place for me now ever to goe neare it, but my Brothers are much there, and Father in his Farm, and Mother in her Kitchen; and the Neighbours, when they call, look on me strangelie, so that I have noe Love for them. How different is Rose's holy, secluded, yet cheerefulle Life at Sheepscote! She hath a Nurserie now, soe cannot come to me, and Father likes not I should goe to her.
April 5, 1644.
They say their Majestyes' Parting at Abingdon was very sorrowfulle and tender. The Lord send them better Times! The Queen is to my Mind a most charming Lady, and well worthy of his Majesty's Affection; yet it seems to me amisse, that thro' her Influence, last Summer, the Opportunitie of Pacification was lost. But she was elated, and naturallie enoughe, at her personall Successes from the Time of her landing. To me, there seems nothing soe good as Peace. I know, indeede, Mr. Milton holds that there may be such Things as a holy War and a cursed Peace.
April 10, 1644.
Father, having a Hoarseness, hath deputed me, of late, to read the Morning and Evening Prayers. How beautifulle is our Liturgie! I grudge at the Puritans for having abolished it; and though I felt not its comprehensive Fullessse [Transcriber's note: Fullnesse?] before I married, nor indeed till now, yet I wearied to Death in London at the puritanicall Ordinances and Conscience-meetings and extempore Prayers, wherein it was soe oft the Speaker's Care to show Men how godly he was. Nay, I think Mr. Milton altogether wrong in the View he takes of praying to God in other Men's Words; for doth he not doe soe, everie Time he followeth the Sense of another Man's extempore Prayer, wherein he is more at his Mercy and Caprice than when he hath a printed Form set down, wherein he sees what is coming?
June 8, 1644.
Walking in the Home-close this Morning, it occurred to me that Mr. Milton intended bringing me to Forest Hill about this Time; and that if I had abided patientlie with him through the Winter, we might now have beene both here happily together; untroubled by that Sting which now poisons everie Enjoyment of mine, and perhaps of his. Lord, be merciful to me a Sinner.
June 23, 1644.
Just after writing the above, I was in the Garden, gathering a few Coronation Flowers and Sops-in-Wine, and thinking they were of deeper crimson at_ Sheepscote_, and wondering what Rose was just then about, and whether had I beene born in her Place, I shoulde have beene as goode and happy as she,—when Harry came up, looking somewhat grave. I sayd, "What is the Matter?" He gave Answer, "Rose hath lost her Child." Oh!——that we should live but a two Hours' Journey apart, and that she coulde lose a Child three Months olde whom I had never seene?