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MacBeth
act v   Scene 9
William Shakespeare
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       Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colors, Malcolm, old
       Siward, Ross, the other Thanes, and Soldiers.

       MALCOLM
       I would the friends we miss were safe arrived.
       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 confirm'd
       In the unshrinking station where he fought,
       But like a man he died.
       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.
       SIWARD
       Had he his hurts before?
       ROSS
       Ay, on the front.
       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 knoll'd.
       MALCOLM
       He's worth more sorrow,
       And that I'll spend for him.
       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.
       Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head.
       MACDUFF
       Hail, King, for so thou art. Behold where stands
       The usurper's cursed head. The time is free.
       I see thee compass'd 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 honor 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 crown'd at Scone.
       Flourish. Exeunt.
       -THE END-
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Dramatis Personae
act i
   Scene 1
   Scene 2
   Scene 3
   Scene 4
   Scene 5
   Scene 6
   Scene 7
act ii
   Scene 1
   Scene 2
   Scene 3
   Scene 4
act iii
   Scene 1
   Scene 2
   Scene 3
   Scene 4
   Scene 5
   Scene 6
act iv
   Scene 1
   Scene 2
   Scene 3
act v
   Scene 1
   Scene 2
   Scene 3
   Scene 4
   Scene 5
   Scene 6
   Scene 7
   Scene 8
   Scene 9