PLANTAGENET.
Thy grave admonishments prevail with me.
But yet methinks, my father’s execution
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.
MORTIMER.
With silence, nephew, be thou politic;
Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,
And like a mountain, not to be removed.
But now thy uncle is removing hence,
As princes do their courts when they are cloy’d
With long continuance in a settled place.
PLANTAGENET.
O uncle, would some part of my young years
Might but redeem the passage of your age!
MORTIMER.
Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer doth
Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;
Only give order for my funeral.
And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes,
And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!
[Dies.]
PLANTAGENET.
And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,
And like a hermit overpass’d thy days.
Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
And what I do imagine, let that rest.
Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself
Will see his burial better than his life.
[Exeunt Jailers, bearing out the body of Mortimer.]
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Choked with ambition of the meaner sort.
And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
Which Somerset hath offer’d to my house,
I doubt not but with honour to redress;
And therefore haste I to the Parliament,
Either to be restored to my blood,
Or make mine ill th’ advantage of my good.
[Exit.]