MALCOLM.
I thank you, doctor.
[Exit Doctor.]
MACDUFF.
What’s the disease he means?
MALCOLM.
’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.
Enter Ross.
MACDUFF.
See, who comes here?
MALCOLM.
My countryman; but yet I know him not.
MACDUFF.
My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.
MALCOLM.
I know him now. Good God, betimes remove
The means that makes us strangers!
ROSS.
Sir, amen.