Painted vpon a pole, and vnder-writ, Heere may you see the Tyrant

Macb. I will not yeeld To kisse the ground before young Malcolmes feet, And to be baited with the Rabbles curse. Though Byrnane wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou oppos'd, being of no woman borne, Yet I will try the last. Before my body, I throw my warlike Shield: Lay on Macduffe, And damn'd be him, that first cries hold, enough.

Exeunt. fighting. Alarums.

Enter Fighting, and Macbeth slaine.

Retreat, and Flourish. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Malcolm, Seyward, Rosse, Thanes, & Soldiers.

Mal. I would the Friends we misse, were safe arriu'd

Sey. Some must go off: and yet by these I see, So great a day as this is cheapely bought

Mal. Macduffe is missing, and your Noble Sonne

Rosse. Your son my Lord, ha's paid a souldiers debt, He onely liu'd but till he was a man, The which no sooner had his Prowesse confirm'd In the vnshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he dy'de

Sey. Then he is dead? Rosse. I, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then It hath no end

Sey. Had he his hurts before? Rosse. I, on the Front

Sey. Why then, Gods Soldier be he: Had I as many Sonnes, as I haue haires, I would not wish them to a fairer death: And so his Knell is knoll'd

Mal. Hee's worth more sorrow, and that Ile spend for him

Sey. He's worth no more, They say he parted well, and paid his score, And so God be with him. Here comes newer comfort. Enter Macduffe, with Macbeths head.

Macd. Haile King, for so thou art. Behold where stands Th' Vsurpers cursed head: the time is free: I see thee compast with thy Kingdomes Pearle, That speake my salutation in their minds: Whose voyces I desire alowd with mine. Haile King of Scotland

All. Haile King of Scotland.

Flourish.

Mal. We shall not spend a large expence of time, Before we reckon with your seuerall loues, And make vs euen with you. My Thanes and Kinsmen Henceforth be Earles, the first that euer Scotland In such an Honor nam'd: What's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time, As calling home our exil'd Friends abroad, That fled the Snares of watchfull Tyranny, Producing forth the cruell Ministers Of this dead Butcher, and his Fiend-like Queene; Who (as 'tis thought) by selfe and violent hands, Tooke off her life. This, and what need full else That call's vpon vs, by the Grace of Grace, We will performe in measure, time, and place: So thankes to all at once, and to each one, Whom we inuite, to see vs Crown'd at Scone.

Flourish. Exeunt Omnes.

FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF MACBETH.