King. Hence with the traitor! with the murderer!
Y. Mor. Base Fortune, now I see, that in thy wheel There is a point, to which when men aspire, They tumble headlong down: that point I touched,60 And, seeing there was no place to mount up higher, Why should I grieve at my declining fall? Farewell, fair queen; weep not for Mortimer, That scorns the world, and, as a traveller, Goes to discover countries yet unknown.
King. What! suffer you the traitor to delay? [Mortimer is taken away.
Queen. As thou receivedst 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.70
Queen. I spill his blood? no. [344]
King. I, 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 [345] Lord. My lord, I fear me it will prove too true.