Mor.ju.
Tis my hand, what gather you by this?
King.
That thither thou didst send a Murtherer.
Mor.ju.
What Murtherer? bring forth the man I sent.
King.
Ah Mortimer, thou know'st that he is slaine,
And so shalt thou be too: why stayes he heere?
Bring him unto a Hurdle, drag him forth,
Hang him I say, and set his quarters up,
But bring his head backe presently to me.
Qu.
For my sake sweete sonne pitty Mortimer.
Mor.ju.
Madame intreat not, I will rather dye,
Then sue for life unto a paltry Boy.
King.
Hence with the Traytor, with the Murtherer.
Mor.ju.
Base Fortune, now I see, that in thy Wheele
There is a point, to which when men aspire,
They tumble headlong downe, that point I toucht,
And seeing there was no place to mount up higher,
Why should I grieve at my declining fall?
Farewell faire Queene, weepe not for Mortimer,
That scornes the World, and as a Traveller
Goes to discover Countries yet unknowne.
King.
What, suffer you the Traytor to delay?
Qu.
As thou receivd'st thy life from me,
Spill not the bloud of gentle Mortimer.
King.
This argues that you spilt my Fathers bloud,
Els would you not intreat for Mortimer.
Que.
I spill his bloud?
King.
I Madam, you, for so the rumour runnes.
Que.
That rumour is untrue, for loving thee,
Is this report rais'd on poore Isabell.
King.
I do not thinke her so unnaturall.
Lords.
My Lord, I feare me it will prove too true.
King.
Mother you are suspected for his death,
And therefore we commit you to the Tower,
Till further tryall be made thereof,
If you be guilty, though I be your sonne,
Thinke not to finde me slack or pittifull.
Qu.
Nay, to my death, for too long have I liv'd,
When as my sonne thinkes to abridge my dayes.
King.
