This argues that you spilt my father's blood,
Else would you not entreat for Mortimer.
ISABELLA. I spill his blood? No!
EDWARD III. Ay, madam, you, for so the rumour runs.
ISABELLA. That rumour is untrue: for loving thee,
Is this report raised on poor Isabel.
EDWARD III. I do not think her so unnatural.
2 LORD. My lord, I fear me it will prove too true.
EDWARD III. Mother, you are suspected for his death,
And therefore we commit you to the Tower
Till further trial may be made thereof.
If you be guilty, though I be your son,
Think not to find me slack or pitiful.
ISABELLA. Nay, to my death, for too long have I lived,
Whenas my son thinks to abridge my days.
EDWARD III. Away with her! Her words enforce these tears,
And I shall pity her if she speak again.
ISABELLA. Shall I not mourn for my beloved lord,
And with the rest accompany him to his grave?
2 LORD. Thus, madam, 'tis the King's will you shall hence.
ISABELLA. He hath forgotten me, stay, I am his mother.
2 LORD. That boots not; therefore, gentle madam, go.
ISABELLA. Then come, sweet death, and rid me of this grief.
Exit, attended.
Enter First Lord.
1 LORD. My lord, here is the head of Mortimer.
EDWARD III. Go fetch my father's hearse where it shall lie,
And bring my funeral robes. Accursed head,
Could I have ruled thee then, as I do now,
Thou hadst not hatched this monstrous treachery!
Here comes the hearse. Help me to mourn, my lords.
Sweet father, here unto thy murdered ghost
I offer up this wicked traitor's head,
And let these tears, distilling from mine eyes,
Be witness of my grief and innocency.
FINIS.