“After he was doctor of divinity, he sang ballads at the Crosse at Abingdon; on a market-day he and some of his comrades were at the taverne by the Crosse, (which, by the way, was then the finest of England; I remember it when I was a freshman; it was admirable curious Gothicque architecture, and fine figures in the nitches; ’twas one of those built by king ... for his queen.) The ballad-singer complayned he had no custome—he could not put off his ballads. The jolly Doctor puts off his gowne, and puts on the ballad-singer’s leathern jacket, and being a handsome man, and a rare full voice, he presently vended a great many, and had a great audience. “After the death of Dr. Goodwin, he was made deane of Christ-Church. He had a good interest with great men, as you may finde in his poems; and that with the then great favourite the duke of Bucks, his excellent wit ever ’twas of recommendation to him. I have forgot the story; but at the same time Dr. Fell thought to have carried it, Dr. Corbet put a pretty trick on him to let him take a journey to London for it, when he had alreadie the graunt of it. “His conversation was extreme pleasant. Dr. Stubbins was one of his cronies; he was a jolly fat doctor, and a very good housekeeper. As Dr. Corbet and he were riding in Lob-lane in wet weather, (’tis an extraordinary deepe dirty lane,) the coach fell, and Corbet said, that Dr. S. was up to the elbows in mud, and he was up to the elbows in Stubbins. “A. D. 1628, he was made bishop of Oxford; and I have heard that he had an admirable grave and venerable aspect. “One time as he was confirming, the country people pressing in to see the ceremonie, said he, ‘Beare off there! or I’ll confirm ye with my staffe.’—Another time, being to lay his hand on the head of a man very bald, he turns to his chaplaine, and said, ‘Some dust, Lushington,’ to keepe his hand from slipping.—There was a man with a great venerable beard; said the bishop, ‘You, behind the beard!’ “His chaplaine, Dr. Lushington, was a very learned and ingenious man, and they loved one another. The Bishop would sometimes take the key of the wine-cellar, and he and his chaplaine would go and lock themselves in and be merry; then first he layes down his episcopal hood, ‘There layes the doctor;’ then he putts off his gowne, ‘There layes the bishop;’ then ’twas, ‘Here’s to thee, Corbet;’—‘Here’s to thee, Lushington.’”