Yesternighte, St. John's Eve, we went into town to see the mustering of the watch. The streets were like unto a continuation of fayr bowers or arbours, which being lit up, looked like an enchanted land. To the sound of trumpets, came marching up Cheapside two thousand of the watch and seven hundred cressett bearers, and the Lord Mayor and sheriffs, with morris dancers, waits, giants, and pageants, very fine. The streets uproarious on our way back to the barge, but the homeward passage under the stars delicious.
June 25.
Poor Erasmus caughte colde on the water last nighte, and keeps house. He spent the best part of the morning in our Academia, discussing the pronunciation of Latin and Greek with Mr. Gunnel, and speaking of his labours on his Greek and Latin Testament, which he prays may be a blessing to all Christendom. He talked of a possible Index Bibliorum, saying 'twas onlie the work of patience and Industrie. Methoughte, if none else would undertake it, why not I?
June 29.
Dr. Linacre at dinner. At table discourse flowed soe thicke and faste that I might aim in vain to chronicle it, and why should I, dwelling as I doe at the fountayn head?
In the hay-field alle the evening. Swathed father in a hay-rope. Father reclining on the hay with his head in my lap. Said he was dreaming "of a far-off future day, when thou and I shall looke back on this hour, and this hay-field, and my head on thy lap."
"Nay, but what a stupid dream, Mr. More," says mother. "If I dreamed at all, it shoulde be of being Lord Chancellor at the leaste."
"Well, wife," sayd father, "I forgive thee for not saying at the most."
July 2.
Erasmus is gone. His last saying to father was, "They will have you at court yet;" and father's answer, "When Plato's year comes round."