My Wife, Who, Poor Wretch, Is Troubled

It Having Been A Very Cold Night Last Night I Had Got Some Cold, And So In Pain By Wind, And A Sure Precursor Of Pain Is Sudden Letting Off Farts, And When That Stops, Then My Passages Stop And My Pain Begins

Thanks Be To God, Since My Leaving Drinking Of Wine, I Do Find Myself Much Better, And Do Mind My Business Better, And Do Spend Less Money, And Less Time Lost In Idle Company.

And It Is A Wonder What Will Be The Fashion After The Plagueisdoneastoperiwigs, Fornobody Will Daretobuy Any Haire For Fear Of The Infectionthat It Had Been Cut Off The Heads Of People Dead Of The Plague.

Music [is] A Science Peculiarly Productive Of A Pleasure That No State Of Life, Publick Or Private, Secular Or Sacred; No Difference Of Age Or Season; No Temper Of Mind Or Condition Of Health Exempt From Present Anguish; Nor, Lastly, Distinction Of Quality, Renders Either Improper, Untimely, Or Unentertaining.

I Did This Night Promise My Wife Never To Go To Bed Without Calling Upon God, Upon My Knees, In Prayer.