Tuesday, October 25.

Will troubleth me noe longer with his lovefitt, nor with his religious disquietations.  Hard studdy of the law hath filled his head with other matters, and made him infinitely more rationall and more agreeable.  I shall ne’er remind him.

T’other evening, as father and I were strolling down the lane, there accosts us a poor, shabby fellow, who begged to be father’s fool.  Father said he had a fancy to be prime fooler in his own establishment, but liking the poor knave’s wit, civilitie, and good sense, he agreed to halve the businesse, he continuing the fooling, and Patteson—­for that is the simple good fellow’s name—­receiving the salary.  Father delighteth in sparring with Patteson far more than in jesting with the king, whom he alwaies looks on as a lion that may, any minute, rend him.

1525, July 2.

Soe my fate is settled.  Who knoweth at sunrise what will chance before sunsett?  No; the Greeks and Romans mighte speak of chance and fate, but we must not.  Ruth’s hap was to light on the field of Boaz, but what she thought casual, the Lord had contrived.

’Twas no use hanging back for ever and ever, soe now there’s an end, and I pray God to give Will and me a quiet life.

1528, September.

Father hath had some words with the cardinall touching the draught of some foreign treaty.  “By the Mass,” exclaimed his grace, nettled, “thou art the verist fool in all the council.”

Father, smiling, rejoined, “God be thanked that the king, our master, hath but one fool therein.”

The cardinall’s rage cannot rob father of the royal favour.  Howbeit, father says he has no cause to be proud thereof.  “If my head,” said he to Will, “could win the king a castle in France, it shoulde not fail to fly off.”

...I was senseless enow to undervalue Will.  Yes, I am a happy wife, a happy mother.  When my little Bill stroaked dear father’s face just now, and murmured “Pretty!” he burst out a-laughing, and cried, “You are like the young Cyrus, who exclaimed, ’Oh, mother, how pretty is my grandfather!’”

I often sitt for an hour or more, watching Hans Holbein at his brush.  He hath a rare gift of limning; but in our likeness, which he hath painted for deare Erasmus, I think he has made us very ugly.

III.—­The Great Seal is Resigned

June, 1530.

Events have followed too quick and thick for me to note ’em.  Father’s embassade to Cambray, and then his summons to Woodstock.  Then the fire in the men’s quarter, the outhouses and barns.  Then, more unlookt for, the fall of my lord cardinall and father’s elevation to the chancellorship.

On the day succeeding his being sworn in, Patteson marched hither and thither, in mourning and paper weepers, bearing a huge placard, inscribed, “Partnership dissolved,” and crying, “My brother is dead; for now they’ve made him Lord Chancellor, we shall ne’er see Sir Thomas more.”