Would you answer MD’s letter,
     On New Year’s Day you’ll do it better;
     For, when the year with MD ’gins,
     It without MD never lins.

(These proverbs have always old words in them; lins is leave off.)

     But, if on New Year you write nones,
     MD then will bang your bones.

But Patrick says I must rise.—­Night.  I was early this morning with Secretary St. John, and gave him a memorial to get the Queen’s letter for the First-Fruits, who has promised to do it in a very few days.  He told me he had been with the Duke of Marlborough, who was lamenting his former wrong steps in joining with the Whigs, and said he was worn out with age, fatigues, and misfortunes.  I swear it pitied me; and I really think they will not do well in too much mortifying that man, although indeed it is his own fault.  He is covetous as hell, and ambitious as the Prince of it:  he would fain have been General for life, and has broken all endeavours for peace, to keep his greatness and get money.  He told the Queen he was neither covetous nor ambitious.  She said if she could have conveniently turned about, she would have laughed, and could hardly forbear it in his face.  He fell in with all the abominable measures of the late Ministry, because they gratified him for their own designs.  Yet he has been a successful General, and I hope he will continue his command.  O Lord, smoke the politics to MD!  Well; but, if you like them, I will scatter a little now and then, and mine are all fresh from the chief hands.  Well, I dined with Mr. Harley, and came away at six:  there was much company, and I was not merry at all.  Mr. Harley made me read a paper of verses of Prior’s.  I read them plain, without any fine manner; and Prior swore, I should never read any of his again; but he would be revenged, and read some of mine as bad.  I excused myself, and said I was famous for reading verses the worst in the world; and that everybody snatched them from me when I offered to begin.  So we laughed.—­Sir Andrew Fountaine still continues ill.  He is plagued with some sort of bile.

Jan. 1.  Morning.  I wish my dearest, pretty Dingley and Stella a happy New Year, and health, and mirth, and good stomachs, and Fr’s company.  Faith, I did not know how to write Fr. I wondered what was the matter; but now I remember I always write Pdfr.  Patrick wishes me a happy New Year, and desires I would rise, for it is a good fire, and faith ’tis cold.  I was so politic last night with MD, never saw the like.  Get the Examiners, and read them; the last nine or ten are full of the reasons for the late change, and of the abuses of the last Ministry; and the great men assure me they are all true.  They are written by their encouragement and direction.  I must rise and go see Sir Andrew Fountaine; but perhaps to-night I may answer MD’s letter:  so good-morrow, my mistresses all, good-morrow.