It is more worthy, to leape in our selves,

Then tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,
Thou know'st, that we two went to Schoole together:
Even for that our love of old, I prethee
Hold thou my Sword Hilts, whilest I runne on it.

Vol. That's not an Office for a friend, my Lord.

Alarum still.

Cly. Fly, flye my Lord, there is no tarrying heere.
Brut. Farewell to you, and you, and you Volumnius.
Strato, thou hast bin all this while asleepe :
Farewell to thee, to Strato, Countrymen :
My heart doth joy, that yet in all my life,
I found no man, but he was true to me.
I shall have glory by this loosing day
More then Octavius, and Marke Antony,
By this vile Conquest shall attaine unto.
So fare you well at once, for Brutus tongue

Hath almost ended his lives History :

Night hangs upon mine eyes, my Bones would rest,

That have but labour'd, to attaine this houre.

Alarum. Cry within, Flye, flye, flye.

Cly. Fly my Lord, flye.
Bru.

Hence: I will follow.

I prythee Strato, stay thou by thy Lord,
Thou art a Fellow of a good respect.

Thy life hath had some smatch of Honor in it,
Hold then my Sword, and turne away thy face,
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou Strato ?

Stra. Give me your hand first. Fare you wel my Lord.
- Casar, now be still.

Bru. Farewell good Strato.

I kill'd not thee with halfe so good a will.

Dyes.

Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octavius, Messala, Lucillius,

and the Army.

Olta. What man is that?

Messa. My Masters man. Strato, where is thy Master?
Stra. Free from the Bondage you are in Messala,

The Conquerors can but make a fire of him :

For Brutus onely overcame himselfe,

And no man else hath Honor by his death.

Lucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee Brutus

That thou hast prov'd Lucillius saying true.

Octa. All that serv'd Brutus, I will entertaine them.

Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?

Stra. I, if Messala will preferre me to you.
Ota. Do so, good Messala.

Messa. How dyed my Master Strato ?
Stra. I held the Sword, and he did run on it.
Messa. Octavius, then take him to follow thee,
That did the latest service to thy Master.

Ant. This was the Noblest Roman of them all :
All the Conspirators save onely hee,
Did that they did, in envy of great Cesar:
He, onely in a generall honest thought,
And common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle, and the Elements
So mixt in him, that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the world; This was a man.

Otta. According to his Vertue, let us use him
With all Respect, and Rites of Buriall.
Within my Tent his bones to night shall ly,
Most like a Souldier ordered Honourably :
So call the Field to rest, and let's away,
To part the glories of this happy day.

Exeunt omnes

FINIS.

1.

МАСВЕТΗ.

Actus Primus. Scœna Prima.

Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches.
Hen shall we three meet againe ?

In Thunder, Lightning, or in Raine ?
2. When the Hurley-burley's done,
When the Battaile's lost, and wonne.

3. That will be ere the set of Sunne.

1. Where the place ?

All. Padock calls anon: faire is foule, and foule is faire, Hover through the fogge and filthie ayre.

Scena Secunda.

Exeunt.

Alarum within. Enter King Malcome, Donalbaine, Lenox, with attendants, meeting a bleeding Captaine.

King. What bloody man is that? he can report,

As seemeth by his plight, of the Revolt

'Gainst my Captivitie: Haile brave friend;

Say to the King, the knowledge of the Broyle,

As two spent Swimmers, that doe cling together,
And choake their Art. The mercilesse Macdonwald

(Worthie to be a Rebell, for to that
The multiplying Villanies of Nature

Doe swarme upon him) from the Westerne Isles
Of Kernes and Gallowgrosses is supply'd,
And Fortune on his damned Quarry smiling,
Shew'd like a Rebells Whore: but all's too weake:
For brave Macbeth (well hee deserves that Name)
Disdayning Fortune, with his brandisht Steele,
Which smoak'd with bloody execution

(Like Valours Minion) carv'd out his passage,
Till hee fac'd the Slave:

Which nev'r shooke hands, nor bad farwell to him,
Till he unseam'd him from the Nave toth'Chops,
And fix'd his Head upon our Battlements.

King. O valiant Cousin, worthy Gentleman.
Cap. As whence the Sunne 'gins his reflection,
Shipwracking Stormes, and direfull Thunders :
So from that Spring, whence comfort seem'd to come,
Discomfort swells: Marke King of Scotland, marke,
No sooner Justice had, with Valour arm'd,
Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heeles,
But the Norweyan Lord, surveying vantage,
With furbusht Armes, and new supplyes of men,

Began a fresh assault.

King. Dismay'd not this our Captaines, Macbeth and Banquoh ?

Cap. Yes, as Sparrowes, Eagles;

Or the Hare, the Lyon:

If I say sooth, I must report they were