Lines Written after Reading Pepys's Diary

Delightful, quaint old diarist,Most ruthless self-anatomist!He guessed not how those pagesWherein he bared his inmost soul,So egotistic, naïve, and droll,Would render up so rich a tollOf spoil to after ages.

Unto his artless pen we oweWhat ne'er another one doth show,(Save as by farthing candle,)A living picture of the ways,(Vivid as 'neath electric rays,)Of life in Charles the Second's days,That time of riant scandal.

Clearly his world before us looms,Though covered with the heavy gloomsTwo centuries cast o'er it:We see him at his work and play,Dancing and singing, grave and gay,Kissing his maids—a fie-fie trait!We must, of course, deplore it.

Kings, courtiers, "statesmen"—save the name!Bold Duchesses, more void of shameThan playhouse Moll or Nelly;Intriguing placemen—all the crewOf ladies frail, false lords, we view,Gazing Pepys's magic-lantern throughFrom dust and ashes sally!

Our diarist was not a saint,He did not 'scape the age's taint,In him was naught heroic:A bribe he scrupled not to touch,He loved fair women far too much,His gormandising too was suchAs would have shocked a stoic.

We know him as none else we know—Far better even than Rousseau,Spite of his strange revealings;Not Byron's self we know so well,From what he did and did not tell,(His soul a mingled heaven and hell!)Confessions and concealings.

Few have, like Pepys, the pluck to ownE'en to their very selves aloneTheir little peccadilloes;Though quick our neighbours' faults to find,We're to our own worse failings blind,Nor to confess them are inclinedE'en to our friendly pillows.

We know he'd sins both great and smallTo answer for, but, after all,Pray tell me who's without them?The man was human through and through,His faults belong to me and you,'Tis well if we've his good points too,And make no fuss about them.

Could we to life but call him backHe would not a warm welcome lackIf with us he'd foregather:How should we hang upon his chat,His anecdotes and stories patOf rakish Earls and Ladies thatHad slipped from virtue's tether!

Yet were he here in person, heCould scarcely help us more to seeHis age's form and pressureThan in his diary unique(You'll vainly such another seek!),He shows it with unvarnished cheek,Than Lely's colours fresher!

A sad and shameful time we ownWas his: yet could the truth be knownIs our age much more moral?A nineteenth-century Pepys may beIs now at work to prove that weHave very little warrantyWith Charles's time to quarrel!

1893