The coachman that carried [us] cannot know me again
The boy is well, and offers to be searched
The devil being too cunning to discourage a gamester
The monkey loose, which did anger me, and so I did strike her
The most ingenious men may sometimes be mistaken
The Alchymist,”—­[Comedy by Ben Jonson
The barber came to trim me and wash me
The present Irish pronunciation of English
The house was full of citizens, and so the less pleasant
The goldsmith, he being one of the jury to-morrow
The plague is got to Amsterdam, brought by a ship from Argier
The pleasure of my not committing these things to my memory
The world do not grow old at all
The ceremonies did not please me, they do so overdo them
The rest did give more, and did believe that I did so too
Their ladies in the box, being grown mighty kind of a sudden
Their saws have no teeth, but it is the sand only
Their condition was a little below my present state
Then to church to a tedious sermon
Then home, and merry with my wife
Thence by coach, with a mad coachman, that drove like mad
Thence to Mrs. Martin’s, and did what I would with her
There is no passing but by coach in the streets, and hardly that
There did see Mrs. Lane. . . . . 
There eat and drank, and had my pleasure of her twice
There did ‘tout ce que je voudrais avec’ her
There did what ‘je voudrais avec’ her . . . . 
There setting a poor man to keep my place
There is no man almost in the City cares a turd for him
There being no curse in the world so great as this
There I did lay the beginnings of a future ‘amour con elle’
There being ten hanged, drawn, and quartered
There did what I would with her
Therefore ought not to expect more justice from her
These young Lords are not fit to do any service abroad
These Lords are hard to be trusted
They are all mad; and thus the kingdom is governed! 
They were so false spelt that I was ashamed of them
They say now a common mistress to the King
They were not occupiers, but occupied (women)
They want where to set their feet, to begin to do any thing
Things wear out of themselves and come fair again
Things being dear and little attendance to be had we went away
Think never to see this woman—­at least, to have her here more
Think that we are beaten in every respect
Thinks she is with child, but I neither believe nor desire it
This day churched, her month of childbed being out
This absence makes us a little strange instead of more fond
This week made a vow to myself to drink no wine this week
This day I began to put on buckles to my shoes
This afternoon I showed my Lord my accounts, which he passed
This unhappinesse of ours do give them heart
This is the use we make of our fathers
This kind of prophane, mad entertainment they give themselves
Those absent from prayers were to pay a forfeit