Oct. 16, 1644.
Walking together, this Morning, Rose was avised to say, "Did Mr. Milton ever tell you the Adventures of the Italian Lady?" "Rely on it he never did," sayd Mr. Agnew.—"Milton is as modest a Man as ever breathed—alle Men of first class Genius are soe." "What was the Adventure?" I askt, curiouslie. "Why, I neede not tell you, Moll, that John Milton, as a Youth, was extremelie handsome, even beautifull. His Colour came and went soe like a Girl's, that we of Christ's College used to call him 'the Lady,' and thereby annoy him noe little. One summer Afternoone he and I and young King (Lycidas, you know) had started on a country Walk, (the Countrie is not pretty, round Cambridge) when we met in with an Acquaintance whom Mr. Milton affected not, soe he sayd he would walk on to the first rising Ground and wait us there. On this rising Ground stood a Tree, beneath which our impatient young Gentleman presentlie cast himself, and, having walked fast, and the Weather being warm, soon falls asleep as sound as a Top. Meantime, King and I quit our Friend and saunter forward pretty easilie. Anon comes up with us a Caroche, with something I know not what of outlandish in its Build; and within it, two Ladies, one of them having the fayrest Face I ever set Eyes on, present Companie duly excepted. The Caroche having passed us, King and I mutuallie express our Admiration, and thereupon, preferring Turf to Dust, got on the other Side the Hedge, which was not soe thick but that we could make out the Caroche, and see the Ladies descend from it, to walk up the Hill. Having reached the Tree, they paused in Surprise at seeing Milton asleep beneath it; and in prettie dumb Shew, which we watcht sharplie, exprest their Admiration of his Appearance and Posture, which woulde have suited an Arcadian well enough. The younger Lady, hastilie taking out a Pencil and Paper, wrote something which she laughinglie shewed her Companion, and then put into the Sleeper's Hand. Thereupon, they got into their Caroche, and drove off. King and I, dying with Curiositie to know what she had writ, soon roused our Friend and possest ourselves of the Secret. The Verses ran thus. . . .
Occhi, Stelle mortali,
Ministre de miei Mali,
Se, chiusi, m' uccidete,
Aperti, che farete?
"Milton coloured, crumpled them up, and yet put them in his Pocket; then askt us what the Lady was like. And herein lay the Pleasantry of the Affair; for I truly told him she had a Pear-shaped Face, lustrous black Eyes, and a Skin that shewed 'il bruno il bel non toglie;' whereas, King, in his Mischief, drew a fancy Portrait, much liker you, Moll, than the Incognita, which hit Milton's Taste soe much better, that he was believed for his Payns; and then he declared that I had beene describing the Duenna! . . . Some Time after, when Milton beganne to talk of visiting Italy, we bantered him, and sayd he was going to look for the Incognita. He stoode it well, and sayd, 'Laugh on! do you think I mind you? Not a Bit.' I think he did."
Just at this Turn, Mr. Agnew stumbled at something in the long Grass. It proved to be an old, rustic Horse-pistol. His Countenance changed at once from gay to grave. "I thought we had noe such Things hereabouts yet," cried he, viewing it askance.—"I suppose I mighte as well think I had found a Corner of the Land where there was noe originall Sin." And soe, flung it over the Hedge.
——First class Geniuses are alwaies modest, are they?—Then I should say that young Italian Lady's Genius was not of the first Class.
Oct. 19, 1644.
Speaking, to-day, of Mr. Waller, whom I had once seen at Uncle John's, Mr. Agnew sayd he had obtayned the Reputation of being one of our smoothest Versers, and thereupon brought forth one or two of his small Pieces in Manuscript, which he read to Rose and me. They were addrest to the Lady Dorothy Sydney; and certainlie for specious Flatterie I doe not suppose they can be matcht; but there is noe Impress of reall Feeling in them. How diverse from my Husband's Versing! He never writ anie mere Love-verses, indeede, soe far as I know; but how much truer a Sence he hath of what is reallie beautifulle and becoming in a Woman than Mr. Waller! The Lady Alice Egerton mighte have beene more justlie proud of the fine Things written for her in Comus, than the Lady Dorothea of anie of the fine Things written of her by this courtier-like Poet. For, to say that Trees bend down in homage to a Woman when she walks under them, and that the healing Waters of Tonbridge were placed there by Nature to compensate for the fatal Pride of Sacharissa, is soe fullesome and untrue as noe Woman, not devoured by Conceite, coulde endure; whereas, the Check that Villanie is sensible of in the Presence of Virtue, is most nobly, not extravagantlie, exprest by Comus. And though my Husband be almost too lavish, even in his short Pieces, of classic Allusion and Personation, yet, like antique Statues and Busts well placed in some statelie Pleasaunce, they are alwaies appropriate and gracefulle, which is more than can be sayd of Mr. Waller's overstrayned Figures and Metaphors.
Oct. 20, 1644.
News from Home: alle well. Audrey Paice on a Visitt there. I hope Mother hath not put her into my Chamber, but I know that she hath sett so manie Trays full of Spearmint, Peppermint, Camomiles, and Poppie-heads in the blue Chamber to dry, that she will not care to move them, nor have the Window opened lest they shoulde be blown aboute. I wish I had turned the Key on my ebony Cabinett.