Classic Poem

[Enter Cromwell and his train.]

CROMWELL.
Is the Barge ready? I will straight to Lambeth,
And if this one day's business once were past,
I'd take my ease to morrow after trouble.--
How now, my friend, wouldst thou speak with me?

[The Messenger brings him the letter; he puts it in
his pocket.]

MESSENGER.
Sir, here's a letter from my Lord of Bedford.

CROMWELL.
O good, my friend, commend me to thy Lord.
Hold, take those Angels; drink them for thy pains.

MESSENGER.
He doth desire your grace to read it,
Because he says it doth concern you near.

CROMWELL.
Bid him assure himself of that. Farewell.
To morrow, tell him, shall he hear from me.--
Set on before there, and away to Lambeth.

[Exeunt omnes.]