To the King, to Cure the Evil

To find that tree of life whose fruits did feedAnd leaves did heal all sick of human seed:To find Bethesda and an angel thereStirring the waters, I am come; and here,At last, I find (after my much to do)The tree, Bethesda and the angel too:And all in your blest hand, which has the powersOf all those suppling-healing herbs and flowers.To that soft charm, that spell, that magic bough,That high enchantment, I betake me now,And to that hand (the branch of heaven's fair tree),I kneel for help; O! lay that hand on me,Adored Cæsar! and my faith is suchI shall be heal'd if that my king but touch.The evil is not yours: my sorrow sings,"Mine is the evil, but the cure the king's".