LORD.

Thus madam, tis the kings will you shall hence.

QUEENE.

He hath forgotten me, stay, I am his mother.

2. LORD.

That bootes not, therefore gentle madam goe.

QUEENE.

Then come sweete death, and rid me of this greefe.

 

[Exit Queene and 2. Lord.]

 

[Enter 1. Lord.]

 

1. LORD.

My lord, here is the head of Mortimer.

KING.

Goe fetche my fathers hearse, where it shall lie,

And bring my funerall robes: accursed head,

Could I have rulde thee then, as I do now,

Thou hadst not hatcht this monstrous treacherie!

 

[Enter some with hearse.]

 

Heere comes the hearse, helpe me to moorne, my lords:

Sweete father heere, unto thy murdered ghost,

I offer up this wicked traitors head,

And let these teares distilling from mine eyes,

Be witnesse of my greefe and innocencie.

 

Finis

 

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