Last evening for supper to Lord P, I myself being conveyed thence in my Lord’s sumptuous barouche Mercedes, a rare honour I thought. His Lordship however explaining that it was born of a need for the horses to be given exercise.
Many pints of fine effervescent wines from France and the Colonies being provided and quaffed, and ales of London, the discourse did become lively, dwelling on the various Tales of Brave Ulysses, this the 16th being his Saint’s Day, and the merits of the bard Homer against the dirty knave Joyce; the debate being well balanced by virtue of none present having read either. Though I deemed it prudent not to confess to having read the rogue Joyce’s scurrilous text two times.
To supper, where my Lady C hath caused divers CURRIES to be served with tasty Chutnies and other sweetmeats and wines of Burgundy and I know not where else, the eating of which extended to many hours. Afterwards my Lord and some Squires withdrew to the recreation chamber, there to watch sporting antic from Eastern lands; I though unwilling to partake, being beguiled by Mistress R who did entice me into prancing a lively galliard until my legs did ache wholesomely.
By the midnight, Several Ladies having engaged in converse of a somewhat fierce domestic character, and matters Politick loudly arising amongst the menfolk, I deemed it time to withdraw, so made my thanks and excuses and was carried home by a hired hackney.
And so to bed.