Y. Mor. But has your grace no other proof than this?
King. Yes, if this be the hand of Mortimer.
Y. Mor. False Gurney hath betrayed me and himself. [Aside.
Queen. I feared as much; murder cannot be hid. [Aside.
Y. Mor. It is 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. I, Mortimer, thou knowest that he is slain; And so shalt thou be too. Why stays he here?50 Bring him unto a hurdle, drag him forth, Hang him, I say, and set his quarters up, But bring his head back presently to me.
Queen. For my sake, sweet son, pity Mortimer.
Y. Mor. Madam, entreat not, I will rather die, Than sue for life unto a paltry boy.