Mary Powell Deborahs Diary | Page 7

greate Feare and Paine I awoke!
. . . Strange Things are Dreames. Dear Mother thinks much of them, and sayth they oft portend coming Events. My Father holdeth the Opinion that they are rather made up of what hath alreadie come to passe; but surelie naught like this Dreame of mine hath in anie Part befallen me hithertoe?
. . . What strange Fable or Masque were they reading that Day at Sheepscote? I mind not.

May 20th, 1643.
Too much busied of late to write, though much hath happened which I woulde fain remember. Dined at Shotover yesterday. Met Mother, who is coming Home in a Day or two; but helde short Speech with me aside concerning Housewifery. The Agnews there, of course: alsoe Mr. Milton, whom we have seene continuallie, lately; and I know not how it shoulde be, but he seemeth to like me. Father affects him much, but Mother loveth him not. She hath seene little of him: perhaps the less the better. Ralph Hewlett, as usuall, forward in his rough endeavours to please; but, though no Scholar, I have yet Sense enough to prefer Mr. Milton's Discourse to his. . . . I wish I were fonder of Studdy; but, since it cannot be, what need to vex? Some are born of one Mind, some of another. Rose was alwaies for her Booke; and, had Rose beene no Scholar, Mr. Agnew woulde, may be, never have given her a second Thoughte: but alle are not of the same Way of thinking.
. . . A few Lines received from Mother's "spoilt Boy," as Father hath called Brother Bill, ever since he went a soldiering. Blurred and mis-spelt as they are, she will prize them. Trulie, we are none of us grate hands at the Pen; 'tis well I make this my Copie-booke.
. . . Oh, strange Event! Can this be Happinesse? Why, then, am I soe feared, soe mazed, soe prone to weeping? I woulde that Mother were here. Lord have Mercie on me a sinfulle, sillie Girl, and guide my Steps arighte.
. . . It seemes like a Dreame, (I have done noughte but dreame of late, I think,) my going along the matted Passage, and hearing Voices in my Father's Chamber, just as my Hand was on the Latch; and my withdrawing my Hand, and going softlie away, though I never paused at disturbing him before; and, after I had beene a full Houre in the Stille Room, turning over ever soe manie Trays full of dried Herbs and Flower-leaves, hearing him come forthe and call, "Moll, deare Moll, where are you?" with I know not what of strange in the Tone of his Voice; and my running to him hastilie, and his drawing me into his Chamber, and closing the Doore. Then he takes me round the Waiste, and remains quite silent awhile; I gazing on him so strangelie! and at length, he says with a Kind of Sigh, "Thou art indeed but young yet! scarce seventeen,--and fresh, as Mr. Milton says, as the earlie May; too tender, forsooth, to leave us yet, sweet Child! But what wilt say, Moll, when I tell thee that a well-esteemed Gentleman, whom as yet indeed I know too little of, hath craved of me Access to the House as one that woulde win your Favour?"
Thereupon, such a suddain Faintness of the Spiritts overtooke me, (a Thing I am noe way subject to,) as that I fell down in a Swound at Father's Feet; and when I came to myselfe again, my Hands and Feet seemed full of Prickles, and there was a Humming, as of Rose's Bees, in mine Ears. Lettice and Margery were tending of me, and Father watching me full of Care; but soe soone as he saw me open mine Eyes, he bade the Maids stand aside, and sayd, stooping over me, "Enough, dear Moll; we will talk noe more of this at present." "Onlie just tell me," quoth I, in a Whisper, "who it is." "Guesse," sayd he. "I cannot," I softlie replied, and, with the Lie, came such a Rush of Blood to my Cheeks as betraied me. "I am sure you have though," sayd deare Father, gravelie, "and I neede not say it is Mr. Milton, of whome I know little more than you doe, and that is not enough. On the other Hand, Roger Agnew sayth that he is one of whome we can never know too much, and there is somewhat about him which inclines me to believe it." "What will Mother say?" interrupted I. Thereat Father's Countenance changed; and he hastilie answered, "Whatever she likes: I have an Answer for her, and a Question too;" and abruptlie left me, bidding me keepe myselfe quiet.
But can I? Oh, no! Father hath