is informed that Sir H. Bellasses's coach was coming:
so Tom Porter went down out of the Coffee-house where he stayed for
the tidings, and stopped the coach, and bade Sir H. Bellasses come
out. "Why," says H. Bellasses, "you will not hurt me coming out, will
you?"--"No," says Tom Porter. So out he went, and both drew: and H.
Bellasses having drawn and flung away his scabbard, Tom Porter asked
him whether he was ready? The other answering him he was, they fell to
fight, some of their acquaintance by. They wounded one another, and H.
Bellasses so much that it is feared he will die: and finding himself
severely wounded, he called to Tom Porter, and kissed him, and bade him
shift for himself; "for," says he, "Tom, thou hast hurt me; but I will
make shift to stand upon my legs till thou mayest withdraw, and the
world not take notice of you, for I would not have thee troubled for
what thou hast done." And so whether he did fly or no I cannot tell:
but Tom Porter shewed H. Bellasses that he was wounded too: and they are
both ill, but H. Bellasses to fear of life. And this is a fine
example; and H. Bellasses a Parliament-man too, and both of them most
extraordinary friends! Among other discourse, my cozen Roger told us a
thing certain, that the Archbishop of Canterbury; that now is, do keep a
wench, and that he is as very a wencher as can be; and tells us it is
a thing publickly known that Sir Charles Sidley had got away one of the
Archbishop's wenches from him, and the Archbishop sent to him to let him
know that she was his kinswoman, and did wonder that he would offer any
dishonour to one related to him. To which Sir Charles Sidley is said
to answer, "A pox take his Grace! pray tell his Grace that I believe he
finds himself too old, and is afraid that I should outdo him among his
girls, and spoil his trade." But he makes no more of doubt to say that
the Archbishop is a wencher, and known to be so, which is one of the
most astonishing things that I have heard of, unless it be, what for
certain he says is true, that my Lady Castlemayne hath made a Bishop
lately, namely,--her uncle, Dr. Glenham, who, I think they say, is
Bishop of Carlisle; a drunken, swearing rascal, and a scandal to the
Church; and do now pretend to be Bishop of Lincoln, in competition with
Dr. Raynbow, who is reckoned as worthy a man as most in the Church for
piety and learning: which are things so scandalous to consider, that
no man can doubt but we must be u