The King hath happily receiv’d, Macbeth,

The news of thy success, and when he reads

Thy personal venture in the rebels’ fight,

His wonders and his praises do contend

Which should be thine or his: silenc’d with that,

In viewing o’er the rest o’ th’ selfsame day,

He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,

Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,

Strange images of death. As thick as tale

Came post with post; and everyone did bear

Thy praises in his kingdom’s great defence,

And pour’d them down before him.