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,80 Think not to find me slack or pitiful.
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 [346] grave?
Second Lord. Thus, madam, 'tis the king's will you shall hence.
Queen. He hath forgotten me; stay, I am his mother.
Second [347] Lord. That boots not; therefore, gentle madam, go.
Queen. Then come, sweet death, and rid me of this grief. [Exit.90
Re-enter a Lord, with the head of Mortimer.
Lord. My lord, here is the head of Mortimer.