Within the Castle.
 Retreat. Flourish.
 Enter, with DRUM and COLOURS, MALCOLM, OLD SIWARD, ROSS,
 THANES, and SOLDIERS.

Malcolm	I would the friends we miss were safe arrived.

Old Siward	Some must go off; and yet, by these I see,
	So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Malcolm	Macduff is missing, and your noble son.

Ross	Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt.
	He only lived but till he was a man,
	The which no sooner had his prowess confirmed
	In the unshrinking station where he fought,
	But like a man he died.

Old Siward								Then he is dead?

Ross	Ay, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow
	Must not be measured by his worth, for then
	It hath no end.

Old Siward					Had he his hurts before?

Ross	Ay, on the front.

Old Siward							Why then, God's soldier be he.
	Had I as many sons as I have hairs
	I would not wish them to a fairer death.
	And so his knell is knolled.

Malcolm									He's worth more sorrow;
	And that I'll spend for him.

Old Siward										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 MACDUFF, with MACBETH's head.

Macduff	Hail, king! - for so thou art. Behold where stands
	Th' usurper's cursd head. The time is free.
	I see thee compassed with thy kingdom's pearl
	That speak my salutation in their minds,
	Whose voices I desire aloud with mine.
	Hail, King of Scotland!

All	Hail, King of Scotland!
												[Flourish.
Malcolm	We shall not spend a large expense of time
	Before we reckon with your several loves
	And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen,
	Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
	In such an honour named. What's more to do
	Which would be planted newly with the time,
	As calling home our exiled friends abroad
	That fled the snares of watchful tyranny,
	Producing forth the cruel ministers
	Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen,
	Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands
	Took off her life; this, and what needful else
	That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace
	We will perform in measure, time, and place.
	So, thanks to all at once, and to each one,
	Whom we invite to see us crowned at Scone.
												[Flourish. Exeunt.
