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The sure fulfilment. I presume to seek
The post of chaplain in your household, Sire.
Cromwell.⁠Art thou a learned doctor in the faith?
Thy name?
Rochester [aside.] ⁠ God's death! my cursed memory!
What saint's name is't I bear?
What…name is't I bear? [Aloud.] Unknown to fame—
Cromwell.⁠Thy name?—The spring may flow from the deep pit.

[Rochester, greatly embarrassed, seems suddenly to remember something of importance. He feels hurriedly in his pocket, takes out a letter, and hands it to Cromwell with a profound reverence.

Rochester.⁠My lord, this letter tells you who I am.
Cromwell.⁠From whom?
Rochester. From whom? John Milton.
Cromwell [opening the letter.] ⁠ A most worthy man!
'Tis pity he is blind!
[He reads a few lines.
'Tis pity he is blind! And so thy name
Is Obededom?
Rochester [bowing, aside.] ⁠ Gadzooks! what a name!
[Aloud.]⁠My lord hath said it.—
[Aside.] My … said it.—Obed—Obededom!
Ah! Davenant, thou knave, to give to me
A name to make the devil fly! a name
One can't pronounce without a sad grimace!
Cromwell [refolding the letter.
A noble name! For Obededom, he
Of Geth, received the Ark into his house.
Be worthy of that memorable name.
Rochester [aside.]⁠Here goes for Obededom!
Cromwell. Here goes for Obededom! He who sponsors you,
Is of our Saints, the Council's clerk, John Milton.