Enter the KING, with the LORDS. First Lord. Fear not, my lord, know that you are a king. King. Villain! Y. Mor. How now, my lord? King. Think not that I am frighted with thy words! My father's murdered through thy treachery; And thou shalt die, and on his mournful hearse To witness to the world, that by thy means Queen. Weep not, sweet son! King. Forbid me not to weep, he was my father; And, had you loved him half so well as I, You could not bear his death thus patiently. But you, I fear, conspired with Mortimer. Lords. Why speak you not unto my lord the king? Who is the man dare say I murdered him? King. Yes, if this be the hand of Mortimer. [Aside. Y. Mor. False Gurney hath betrayed me and himself. Queen. I feared as much; murder cannot be hid: [A side. Y. Mor. 'Tis my hand; what gather you by this! King. That thither thou didst send a murderer. Y. Mor. What murderer Bring forth the man I sent. King. Aye, Mortimer, thou know'st that he is slain; And so shalt thou be too. Why stays he here? King. Hence with the traitor! with the murderer ! Queen. As thou receivedest thy life from me, Spill not the blood of gentle Mortimer. King. This argues that you spilt my father's blood, Else would you not entreat for Mortimer. Queen. I spill his blood? no. King. Aye, madam, you; for so the rumour runs. Queen. That rumour is untrue; for loving thee, Is this report raised on poor Isabel? King. I do not think her so unnatural. Second Lord. My lord, I fear me it will prove too true. King. Mother, you are suspected for his death, And therefore we commit you to the Tower, Till farther trial may be made thereof; If you be guilty, though I be your son, Queen. Nay, to my death, for too long have I lived, Whenas my son thinks to abridge my days. King. Away with her, her words enforce these tears, And I shall pity her if she speak again. Queen. Shall I not mourn for my beloved lord, And with the rest accompany him to his grave? Lord. Thus, madam, 'tis the king's will you shall hence. Queen. He hath forgotten me; stay, I am his mother. Lord. That boots not; therefore, gentle madam, go. Queen. Then come, sweet death, and rid me of this grief. Re-enter a Lord, with the head of MORTIMER. [Exit. Lord. My lord, here is the head of Mortimer. Thou had'st not hatched this monstrous treachery. And let these tears, distilling from mine eyes, [Exeunt. Guise. Now, Guise, begin those deep-engender'd thoughts To burst abroad those never-dying flames Although my downfall be the deepest hell. For this, this head, this heart, this hand, and sword, Matters of import aimed at by many, Yet understood by none; For this, hath heaven engender'd me of earth; Fie, I am asham'd, however that I seem, Him, as a child, I daily win with words, |