I have, perhaps, fome fhallow fpirit of judgment; Plant. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance: Sam. And on my fide it is fo well apparell'd, So clear, fo fhining, and fo evident, That it fhall glimmer through a blind man's eye. Plant. Since you are tongue-ty'd, and so loth to speak, In dumb fignificants proclaim your thoughts: Pluck a red rofe from off this thorn with me. I pluck this white rofe, with Plantagenet. Suf. I pluck this red rofe, with young Somerfet; And fay withal, I think he held the right. Ver. Stay, lords, and gentlemen; and pluck no more, "Till you conclude that he, upon whofe fide The fewest roses are crop'd from the tree, Shall yield the other in the right opinion. Som. Good mafter Vernon, it is well objected; If I have feweft, I fubfcribe in filence. Plant. And I. Ver. Then, for the truth and plainnefs of the cafe, I pluck this pale and maiden bloffom here, Giving my verdict on the white rofe fide. Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; Left, bleeding, you do paint the white rofe red, And fall on my fide fo against your will. Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, Opinion shall be furgeon to my hurt, And keep me on the fide where ftill I am. Som. Well, well, come on: Who elfe? Lawyer. Unlefs, my ftudy and my books be falfe, The argument you held, was wrong in you; [TO SOMERSET. In fign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. Plant. Now, Somerfet, where is your argument? Som. Here, in my fcabbard; meditating that, Shall dye your white rofe to a bloody red. Plant. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our roses; For pale they look with fear, as witnefling Som. No, Plantagenet, Blush for pure fhame, to counterfeit our roses; 'Tis not for fear; but anger-that thy cheeks And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. Plant. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset Somt. Hath not thy rofe a thorn, Plantagenet? Plant. Ay, fharp and piercing, to maintain his truth; Whiles thy confuming canker eats his falfehood. Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding rofess That fhall maintain what I have faid is true, Suf. Suf. Turn not thy fcorns this way, Plantagenet. Plant. Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him and thee. Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole! We grace the yeoman, by converfing with him. War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'ft him, Somerset ; His grandfather was Lionel duke of Clarence, Third fon to the third Edward king of England; Spring crestless yeomen from fo deep a root? Plant. He bears him on the place's privilege, Or durft not, for his craven heart, fay thus. Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain my On any plot of ground in Christendom: [words Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge, For treafon executed in our late king's days? And, by his treason, standst thou not attainted, Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry? His trefpafs yet lives guilty in thy blood; And, 'till thou be reftor'd, thou art a yeoman. Plant. My father was attached, not attainted; Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor; And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset, Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. For your partaker Poole, and you yourself, I'll note you in my book of memory, To fcourge you for this apprehenfion : Look to it well; and fay you are well warn'd. Som. Ay, thou shalt find us for thee still: And know us, by these colours for thy foes; For these my friends, in fpite of thee fhall wear. Plant. And, by my foul, this pale and angry rofe, As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, As Will I for ever, and my faction, wear; Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy am bition! And fo farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit. Som. Have with thee, Poole.-Farewell, ambitious Richard. [Exit. Plant. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure it! War. This blot, that they object against your houfe, Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament, Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Glofter: And, if thou be not then created York, I will not live to be accounted Warwick. Mean time, in signal of my love to thee, Against proud Somerset, and William Poole, Will I upon the party wear this rose: And here I prophecy-This brawl to-day Grown to this faction, in the Temple-Garden, Shall fend between the red rofe and the white, A thousand fouls to death and deadly night. Plant. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you, That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the fame. Law. And fo will 1. Plant. Thanks, gentle fir. Come, let us four to dinner: I dare fay, SCENE V. A Room in the Tower. Enter MORTIMER, brought in a Chair, and Jailors. Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, Let Let dying Mortimer here reft himself.— Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. Thefe eyes--like lamps whofe wafting oil is fpent- Weak fhoulders, over-borne with burth'ning grief; Mor. Enough; my foul then fhall be fatisfy’d-- But now, the arbitrator of defpairs, Juft death, kind umpire of men's miferies, Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET. Keep. My lord, your loving nephew how is come. Mor |