Mortimer, I did, he is our king,

And thou compelst this prince to weare the crowne.

Strike of my head? base traitor I defie thee.

Staie villaines.

Art thou king, must I die at thy commaund?

Let me but stay and speake, I will not go,

Either my brother or his sonne is king,

And none of both them thirst for Edmunds bloud.

And therefore soldiers whether will you hale me?