And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born;
Yet I will try the låft. Before my body
I throw my warlike fhield. Lay on, Macduff,
And damn'd be he, that firft cries hold, enough.

ار

[Exeunt fighting.

SCENE VIII.

Alarum,

Retreat and Flourish. Enter with Drum and Colours, Mal

colm, Siward, Roffe, Thanes, and Soldiers. Mal. I would the friends we miss were safe arriv'd. Siw. Some muft go off: and yet by thefe I fec,

So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mal. Macduff is miffing, and your noble fon.

Roffe. Your fon, my Lord, has paid a foldier's debt

He only liv'd but 'till he was a man,

The which no fooner had his prowess confirm'd

In the unfhrinking ftation where he fought,

But like a man he dy'd.

Siw. Then is he dead?

Roffe. Ay, and brought off the field: your caufe of forrow Muft not be meafur'd by his worth, for then

It hath no end.

Siw. Had he his hurts before?
Roffe. Ay, on the front.

Siw. Why then, God's foldier be he!
Had I as many fons as I have hairs,

I would not wish them to a fairer death:
And fo his knell is knoll'd."

Mal. He's worth more forrow,

And that I'll spend for him.

Siw. He's worth no more;

They fay he parted well, and paid his fcore,
So God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.
Enter Macduff with Macbeth's head.

Macd. Hail, King! for fo thou art. Behold, where

Th' ufurper's curfed head; the time is free :
I fee thee compaft with thy kingdom's peers,

That speak my falutation in their minds :

Whofe voices I defire aloud with mine.

Hail, King of Scotland! hail!

All. Hail, King of Scotland!

[ftands

[Flourish.

Mal.

Mal. We fhall not fpend a large expence of time,
Before we reckon with your fev'ral loves,

And make us even with you. Thanes and kinsmen,
Henceforth be Earls, the first that ever Scotland
In fuch an honour 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 fnares of watchful tyranny,
Producing forth the cruel ministers

Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like Queen ;
(Who, as 'tis thought, by felf and violent hands.
Took off her life;) this, and what's needful elfe
That calls upon us, by the grace of heaven
We will perform in meafure, time, and place:
So thanks to all at once, and to each one,-
Whom we invite to fee us crown'd at Scone.

[Flourish. Exeunt - omnes

TROILUS

AND

CRESSIDA.

V. D

IN

PROL O. GUE.

N Troy, there lyes the fcene: from Iles of Greece
The Princes orgillous, their high blood chaf'd,
Have to the port of Athens fent their fhips,
Fraught with the minifters and inftruments
Of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore
Their crownets regal, from th' Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia, and their vow is made
To ranfack Troy; within whofe ftrong immures,
The ravifh'd Helen, Menelaus' Queen,

With wanton Paris fleeps, and that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come

And the deep-drawing barks do there difgorge
Their warlike fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains,
The fresh and yet unbruifed Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions. Priam's fix gates i' th' city,
Dardan, and Thymbria, Ilia, Scæa, Trojan,
And Antenorides, with maffy staples

And correfponfive and full-filling bolts,
Sperr up the fons of Troy.

Now Expectation tickling skittish spirits
On one and other fide, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on bazard. Hither am I come
A Prologue arm'd, but not in confidence
Of Author's pen, or Actor's voice; but fuited
In like conditions as our argument;

To tell you (fair beholders) that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
'Ginning i' th' middle: ftarting thence away
To what may be digefted in a Play.

Like, or find fault, do as your pleasures are,
Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

VOL. VIII,

N

DRA