at a point, was setting forth. Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent? Such welcome and unwelcome things at once 'Tis hard to reconcile. Well; more anon.--Comes the king forth, I pray you? 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. I thank you, doctor. What's the disease he means? '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. See, who comes here? My countryman; but yet I know him not. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. I know him now. Good God, betimes remove The means that makes us strangers! Sir, amen. Stands Scotland where it did? Alas, poor country! Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot Be call'd our mother, but our grave; where nothing, But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems A modern ecstasy; the dead man's knell Is there scarce ask'd for who; and good men's lives Expire before the flowers in their caps, Dying or ere they sicken. O, relation Too nice, and yet too true! What's the newest grief? That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker: Each minute teems a new one. How does my wife? Why, well. And all my children? Well too. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? No; they were well at peace when I did leave 'em. But not a niggard of your speech: how goes't? When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour Of many worthy fellows that were out; Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot: Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland Would create soldiers, make our women fight,