Monarchie then whether it is true (as we have heard tell) that the Queen and King of the Pharisees have quarrelled?
Quaere: if it is true that the Queen cannot in one thinge gouverne herself?
This went on until the Scholars all fell a-quarrelling, having now gott fortie-two questions to ask the poor Pharisee when they found it and Mr Foxton sayd a Christian could not bear to be so putt upon let alone a Fairie. Mr Aubrey sighed and sayd he would trie to reduce the number.
"Here is Sir John Sowreston!" whispers Dr Foxton.
"Mr Aubrey!" sayz I.
"Yes, Miranda?" sayz he.
But I had no time to aske him what I wished because Sir John hurried me into the howse.
"Oh, my deare," sayz I to Sir John, "What is the matter? Do not let the noble Scholars see you looke so Melancholic! They still hope to chear you."
"Where are we going, Sir John?" sayz I. "I never sawe this little staircase before. Is it some secret place that you discouvered when you played here as a boye? Is that what you wishe to shew me?
"I never saw this room before," sayz I, "And here are your three goode dogges, fighting with each other for some bones. Sir John, doe such great big dogges like to be shutt up in such a little room? And what is this little spinning wheele for?"
"Miranda," sayz Sir John, "You are very younge and for that reason I have often gouverned my-selfe when I should be angrie. Your lookes are often insolent. Your speech is full of Conceit and not womanly."
"Oh no, my deare!" sayz I, "You mistake. Those are lovinge lookes I give you."
"Perhaps," sayz he. "I doe not know. Sometimes, Miranda, I half-believe . . . But then againe, all men lye - and all women too. They drinke in Lyes with their mother's milke. As little children they delight to bear false witness one against the other. The Lyes and deceits that are practised on me every day by the common sort of people . . ." (He meant our Servants, Neighbours, Lawyers, Relations, etc., etc.) ". . . pricke my flesh like the stinges of bees and mosquitos. I scarcelie regard them. But a Lye from you, Miranda, will be a long, sharp sworde that slippes between my bones and cuttes my Heart. You swore when you married me that you could spinne five skeins of flax every daye for a month . . ."
"Spinne five skeins of flax in a daye . . . Oh, Sir John! I never heard of anie one that could doe that!"
"I hope, Miranda, that you have not lyed. A wife, Miranda, haz her husband's conscience in her keeping and muste so order her actions that they tempt not her husband to sinne. It is a wicked thinge to tempt others to sinne. To kille someone in anger is a sinne."
He wept a little to thinke on't, but it waz not for me he wept but for his owne Unhappy Spirit, thinking that when he murdered me 'twould be all his owne Misfortune and none of mine.
"Oh!" sayz I chearfully, "Doe not be afraid, my deare. I shall spinne you thread so soft and fine. And Dafney and I shall make you shirts of the thread I spinne and at every touch of those shirts you will thinke I kisse you."
But he shutt the doore upon me and lock't it and went awaie.
From the windowe I sawe the Scholars sitting beneath the Beech-tree. They were all very merry now that Sir John waz gone. As the twilight deepen'd they dranke each others healthes and sang a ballad of their youth about a shepherdesse that some gentlemen liked. Then all joined armes and sang againe and off to bed together.
The kitchen door opened and let out a little firelight upon the lavender bushes. Dafney look't out. (Dafney Babraham: mayde to Lady Miranda Sowreston that is my-selfe; yellow haire; smelles of rosemary and other good thinges; haz two gownes, a blew and a redd.) She called faintly, "Madam, Madam." She came along the path; cast her lookes this way and that; seemed quite distracted from not knowing where to finde me. She feared Sir John had alreadie drowned me in the horse-pond.
"Oh!" she cries, spying me, "What are you a-doing up there? Where did that little windowe
Quaere: if it is true that the Queen cannot in one thinge gouverne herself?
This went on until the Scholars all fell a-quarrelling, having now gott fortie-two questions to ask the poor Pharisee when they found it and Mr Foxton sayd a Christian could not bear to be so putt upon let alone a Fairie. Mr Aubrey sighed and sayd he would trie to reduce the number.
"Here is Sir John Sowreston!" whispers Dr Foxton.
"Mr Aubrey!" sayz I.
"Yes, Miranda?" sayz he.
But I had no time to aske him what I wished because Sir John hurried me into the howse.
"Oh, my deare," sayz I to Sir John, "What is the matter? Do not let the noble Scholars see you looke so Melancholic! They still hope to chear you."
"Where are we going, Sir John?" sayz I. "I never sawe this little staircase before. Is it some secret place that you discouvered when you played here as a boye? Is that what you wishe to shew me?
"I never saw this room before," sayz I, "And here are your three goode dogges, fighting with each other for some bones. Sir John, doe such great big dogges like to be shutt up in such a little room? And what is this little spinning wheele for?"
"Miranda," sayz Sir John, "You are very younge and for that reason I have often gouverned my-selfe when I should be angrie. Your lookes are often insolent. Your speech is full of Conceit and not womanly."
"Oh no, my deare!" sayz I, "You mistake. Those are lovinge lookes I give you."
"Perhaps," sayz he. "I doe not know. Sometimes, Miranda, I half-believe . . . But then againe, all men lye - and all women too. They drinke in Lyes with their mother's milke. As little children they delight to bear false witness one against the other. The Lyes and deceits that are practised on me every day by the common sort of people . . ." (He meant our Servants, Neighbours, Lawyers, Relations, etc., etc.) ". . . pricke my flesh like the stinges of bees and mosquitos. I scarcelie regard them. But a Lye from you, Miranda, will be a long, sharp sworde that slippes between my bones and cuttes my Heart. You swore when you married me that you could spinne five skeins of flax every daye for a month . . ."
"Spinne five skeins of flax in a daye . . . Oh, Sir John! I never heard of anie one that could doe that!"
"I hope, Miranda, that you have not lyed. A wife, Miranda, haz her husband's conscience in her keeping and muste so order her actions that they tempt not her husband to sinne. It is a wicked thinge to tempt others to sinne. To kille someone in anger is a sinne."
He wept a little to thinke on't, but it waz not for me he wept but for his owne Unhappy Spirit, thinking that when he murdered me 'twould be all his owne Misfortune and none of mine.
"Oh!" sayz I chearfully, "Doe not be afraid, my deare. I shall spinne you thread so soft and fine. And Dafney and I shall make you shirts of the thread I spinne and at every touch of those shirts you will thinke I kisse you."
But he shutt the doore upon me and lock't it and went awaie.
From the windowe I sawe the Scholars sitting beneath the Beech-tree. They were all very merry now that Sir John waz gone. As the twilight deepen'd they dranke each others healthes and sang a ballad of their youth about a shepherdesse that some gentlemen liked. Then all joined armes and sang againe and off to bed together.
The kitchen door opened and let out a little firelight upon the lavender bushes. Dafney look't out. (Dafney Babraham: mayde to Lady Miranda Sowreston that is my-selfe; yellow haire; smelles of rosemary and other good thinges; haz two gownes, a blew and a redd.) She called faintly, "Madam, Madam." She came along the path; cast her lookes this way and that; seemed quite distracted from not knowing where to finde me. She feared Sir John had alreadie drowned me in the horse-pond.
"Oh!" she cries, spying me, "What are you a-doing up there? Where did that little windowe
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