Hail, King of 'Scotland! hail!`
All. Hail, King of Scotland!
Mal. We fhall not spend a large expence of time,
Before we reckon with your fev'ral loves,
And make us even with you. Thanes and kinfmen,
Henceforth be Earls, the firft 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 minifters
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 measure, time, and place:
So thanks to all at once, and to each one,
Whom we invite to fee us crown'd at Scone.
The End of the FIFTH VOLUME.