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Scene viii] Macbeth 121 

In such an honour nam'd. 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 70 

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.