Diary of Samuel Pepys — Volume 27: March 1663-64 — Text and Context

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Authors: Pepys, Samuel, 1633-1703, Braybrooke, Richard Griffin, Baron, 1783-1858 [Editor], Wheatley, Henry B. (Henry Benjamin), 1838-1917 [Editor], Bright, Mynors, 1818-1883 [Translator] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2004 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Pepys, Samuel, 1633-1703 -- Diaries; Cabinet officers -- Great Britain -- Diaries; Diarists -- Great Britain -- Diaries; Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 17th century -- Sources; Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Sources Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 15,790

Reading time 69 min

Text sections 2

Diary of Samuel Pepys — Volume 27: March 1663-64 — Text and Context can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 15,790 words, 1 hr 9 min estimated reading time, and 2 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 31.1 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Pepys, Samuel, 1633-1703 -- Diaries,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #4147

In this volume, Pepys's diary entries from March 1663-64 reveal his meticulous attention to naval administration, his physical ailments, and his sharp observations of political self-interest among Council members, all rendered in a brisk, candid voice.

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Pepys opens March 1663-64 with a characteristic blend of professional diligence and personal discomfort: 'my left eye being mightily troubled with rheum' does not prevent him from sitting at the office all morning, then walking to Deptford and back 'by moonshine.' The diary's rhythm—public duty punctuated by private complaint—is established within the first entry. A visit to St. Paul's Churchyard yields a 'pretty burlesque poem, called "Scarronides, or Virgile Travesty"'—a rare literary aside that Pepys pronounces 'extraordinary good.' Yet the same day brings a political briefing from Mr. Burgby, who 'complains how most of the Lords of the Council do look after themselves and their own ends.' The volume thus moves swiftly between the Admiralty's business, bodily troubles, and the gossip of Whitehall.

Ailments and the Body's Demands

Pepys's body is a constant presence in these pages. On March 2nd his eye is 'mightily out of order with the rheum'; by the 20th he is 'in great pain by a simple compressing of my cods' and keeps his bed, applying a poultice. The physical is never merely noted—it shapes his movements. He stays indoors on the 21st 'for fear of my tumour, for fear it shall rise again.' These entries are not hypochondriacal but practical: the body is another piece of machinery to be managed, like the Navy's masts. The recurrence of such complaints gives the diary a somatic texture, grounding grander political reflections in the daily struggle to get through the day.

Political Disenchantment in Private Counsel

Mr. Burgby's assessment of the Council is damning: 'Sir G. Carteret is diligent, but all for his own ends and profit. My Lord Privy Scale, a destroyer of every body's business.' Pepys records this without comment, letting the indictment stand. The king himself is said to be neglected by the Chancellor, who 'makes the King to trot every day to him.' Such passages reveal the gap between public reputation and private knowledge. Pepys, as Clerk of the Acts, occupies a vantage point from which he can hear these critiques without being able to act on them. The diary becomes a repository for the unvarnished talk of the corridors.

Family Tensions and the Weight of Letters

A domestic crisis unfolds when Pepys discovers 'several letters of my brother John's to him speaking very foale words of me.' He reads them aloud to his father, who is 'troubled mightily.' The language is blunt: Pepys calls John 'a simple rogue' and resolves to 'remember his carriage to me in this particular the longest day I live.' The episode shows how the diary serves as both a record of injury and a tool for reckoning. Pepys does not merely vent; he sorts papers, reads evidence, and announces consequences. The emotional temperature rises sharply, then subsides into the next day's business.

Readers attentive to shifts in pace will notice how Pepys moves from the Council's self-interest to his own household's betrayals without changing register. The same plain style that records a 'pretty burlesque poem' also preserves a brother's treachery. This volume rewards those who listen for the undertow of anger beneath the surface of administrative routine.

Reading Pepys fret over his aching eyes and the Council’s petty scheming, I remembered sitting with my own journal last winter, noting small aches and larger disappointments. Charlie Newcomer — A Closer Reading gave me that same quiet companionship—someone else’s careful noticing making my own scattered days feel less lonely. That book’s patient attention to ordinary details lingered like a warm room.