23th. This day I am told that Dr. Burnett, my physician, is this
morning dead of the plague; which is strange, his man dying so
long ago, and his house this month open again. Now himself dead.
Poor unfortunate man!
28th. I think to take adieu to-day of the London streets. In
much the best posture I ever was in in my life, both as to the
quantity and the certainty I have of the money I am worth; having
most of it in my hand. But then this is a trouble to me what to
do with it, being myself this day going to be wholly at Woolwich;
but for the present I am resolved to venture it in an iron chest,
at least for a while.
30th, Abroad, and met with Hadley, our clerke, who, upon my
asking how the plague goes, told me it encreases much, and much
in our parish; for, says he, there died nine this week, though I
have returned but six: which is a very ill practice, and makes
me think it is so in other places; and therefore the plague much
greater than people take it to be. I went forth and walked
towards Moorefields to see (God forgive my presumption!) whether
I could see any dead corpse going to the grave; but, as God would
have it, did not.
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