CHAPTER VI
THE ROYAL TOUCH
Malcolm. Well; more anon.—Comes the king forth, I pray you?
Doctor. 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.
Malcolm. I thank you, doctor. [Exit Doctor.