Tuesday, 25th.
A glance at the anteceding Pages of this Libellus me-sheweth poor Will Roper at the Season his Love-fitt for me was at its Height. He troubleth me with it noe longer, nor with his religious Disquietations. Hard Studdy of the Law hath filled his Head with other Matters, and made him infinitely more rationall, and by Consequents, more agreeable. 'Twas one of those Preferences young People sometimes manifest, themselves know neither why nor wherefore, and are shamed, afterwards, to be reminded of. I'm sure I shall ne'er remind him. There was nothing in me to fix a rational or passionate Regard. I have neither Bess's Witt nor white Teeth, nor Daisy's dark Eyes, nor Mercy's Dimple. A plain-favoured Girl, with changefulle Spiritts,—that's alle.
26th.
Patteson's latest Jest was taking Precedence of Father yesterday with the Saying, "Give place, Brother; you are but Jester to King Harry, and I'm Jester to Sir Thomas More; I'll leave you to decide which is the greater Man of the two."
"Why, Gossip," cries Father, "his Grace woulde make two of me."
"Not a Bit of it," returns Patteson, "he's big enow for two such as you are, I grant ye, but the King can't make two of you. No! Lords and Commons may make a King, but a King can't make a Sir Thomas More."
"Yes, he can," rejoyns Father, "he can make me Lord Chancellor, and then he will make me more than I am already; ergo, he will make Sir Thomas more."
"But what I mean is," persists the Fool, "that the King can't make such another as you are, any more than all the King's Horses and all the King's Men can put Humpty-dumpty together again, which is an ancient Riddle, and full of Marrow. And soe he'll find, if ever he lifts thy Head off from thy Shoulders, which God forbid!"