Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mal. The meere dispaire of Surgery, he cures,
Mal. Hanging a golden stampe about their neckes,
Mal. Put on with holy Prayers, and 'tis spoken
Mal. To the succeeding Royalty he leaues
Mal. The healing Benediction. With this strange vertue,
Mal. He hath a heauenly guift of Prophesie,
Mal. And sundry Blessings hang about his Throne,
Mal. That speake him full of Grace.
Mal. Enter Rosse.
Macd. Macd.
Macd. See who comes heere.
Malc. Malc.
Malc. My Countryman: but yet I know him not.
Macd. My euer gentle Cozen, welcome hither.
Malc. I know him now. Good God betimes remoue
Malc. The meanes that makes vs Strangers.
Rosse. Rosse.
Rosse. Sir, Amen.