Page:Macbeth (1918) Yale.djvu/83

Macbeth, IV. iii.  Mal. Well; more anon. Comes the king forth, I pray you?

Doct. Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls

That stay his cure; their malady convinces

The great assay of art; but, at his touch,

Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand,

They presently amend.

Mal. I thank you, doctor.

Exit [Doctor].

Macd. What's the disease he means?

Mal. 'Tis call'd the evil:

A most miraculous work in this good king,

Which often, since my here-remain in England,

I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,

Himself best knows; but strangely-visited people,

All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,

The mere despair of surgery, he cures;

Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,

Put on with holy prayers; and 'tis spoken

To the succeeding royalty he leaves

The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,

He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy,

And sundry blessings hang about his throne

That speak him full of grace.

Macd. See, who comes here?

Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not.

Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.

Mal. I know him now. Good God, betimes remove

The means that make us strangers!

 142 stay his cure: wait for him to cure them; cf. n.

143 assay of art: efforts of medical science

150 strangely-visited: strangely-afflicted

153 stamp: coin

