Saf. Within the Temple hall we were too loud,
The garden here is more convenient.
Plan. Then fay at once if I maintain'd the truth:
9'And was not wrangling Somerset in th' error?
Suf. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law,
I never yet could frame my will to it,
And therefore frame the law unto my will.
Som. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then between us.
War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch,
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth,
Between two blades, which bears the better temper,
Between two horses, which doth bear him beft,
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye,
I have perhaps fome fhallow fpirit of judgment:
But in thefe nice fharp quillets of the law,
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.
Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:
The truth appears fo naked on my fide,
That any pur-blind eye may find it out.
Som. And on my fide it is fo well apparell'd.
So clear, fo fhining, and fo evident,
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.
Plan. Since you are tongue-ty'd, and fo loth to fpeak, In dumb fignificance proclaim your thoughts:
Let him that is a true-born gentleman
And ftands upon the honour of his birth,
If he fuppofe that I have pleaded truth,
Som. Let him that is no coward, and no flatterer,
From off this briar pluck a white rose with me.
But dare maintain the party of the truth,
Pluck a red rofe from off this thorn with me.
War. I love no colours; and without all colour
Of base infinuating flattery,
I pluck this white rofe with Plantagenet.
Suf. I pluck this red rofe with young Somerset, And fay withal I think he held the right.
Ver. Stay, Lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more, VOL. IV.
'Till you conclude that he upon whose fide
The feweft rofes 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 subscribe in filence.
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. Well, well, come on, who elfe?
Lawyer. Unless my ftudy and my books be falfe,
The argument you held was wrong in you; [To Somerset.
In fign whereof I pluck a white rofe too.
Plan. Now, Somerfet, where is your argument?
Som. Here in my fcabbard, meditating that
Shall dye your white rofe to a bloody red. b
Plan. Now by this maiden bloffom in my hand,
Sam. 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 fhall be furgeon to my hurt,
And keep me on the fide where ftill I am.
Som. Well, well, &c.
Plan. Mean time your cheeks do counterfeit our roses,
For pale they look with fear, as witnefling
The truth on our fide.
'Tis not for fear, but anger that thy cheeks
Blush for pure fhame to counterfeit our roses,
And yet thy tongue will not confefs thy error.
Plan. Hath not thy rofe a canker, Somerset?
Som. Hath not thy rofe a thorn, Plantagenet?
Plan. Ay, fharp and piercing to maintain his truth,
Whiles thy confuming canker eats his falfhood.
Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roles,
That fhall maintain what I have faid is true,
Where falfe Plantagenet dare not be feen.
-Plan. Now by this maiden
I from thee and thy 'faction, peevish boy.
Suf. Turn not thy fcorns this way, Plantagenet.
Plan. Proud Pole, I will, and fcorn both him and thee,
Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.
Sem. Away, away, good William de la Pole;
We grace the Yeoman by converfing with him.
War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'ft him, Somerfet.
His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,
Third fon to the third Edward King of England:
Spring creftlefs Yeomen from fo deep a root?
Plan. 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
On any plot of ground in Chriftendom.
Was not thy father, Richard, Earl of Cambridge,
For treafon 'headed in our late King's days?
And by his treafon ftand'st not thou 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,
Plan. My father was attached, not attainted,
Condemn'd to die for treafon, 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 Pole, and you your self,
I'll note you in my book of memory,
To fcourge you for this reprehenfion;
Look to it well, and fay you are well warn'd.
Som. Ah, thou fhalt find us ready for thee ftill;
And know us by thefe colours for thy foes:
For these my friends in fpight of thee fhall wear.
Plan. And by my foul, this pale and angry rofe,
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,
Will I for ever and my faction wear,
Until it wither with me to my grave,
Or flourish to the height of my degree.
I paffion, ... old edit. Theob. emend.
2 apprehenfion; . . . old edit. Theob, emend.
Suf. Go forward, and be choak'd with thy ambition: And fo farewel until I meet thee next.
Som. Have with thee, Pole: farewel, ambitious Richard.
Plan. How I am brav'd, and muft perforce endure it! War This blot that they object against your house, Shall be wip'd out in the next Parliament,
Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucefter:
And if thou be not then created York,
I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
Mean time in fignal of my love to thee,
Against proud Somerfet and William Pole,
Will I upon thy party wear this rofe.
And here I prophefie; 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, a
Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair, and Jailors.
Mor. Ind keepers of my weak decaying age,
K
Let dying Mortimer here reft himself.
Ev'n like a man new haled from the rack,
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment:
And these grey locks, the purfuivants of death,
Neftor-like aged in an age
(a) death and deadly night.
Plan. Good mafter Vernon, I am bound to you,
That you on my behalf would pluck a flow'r.
Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the fame.
Lawyer. And fo will I.
Plan. Thanks, gentle Sir.
Come, let us four to dinner; I dare fay
This quarrel will drink blood another day.
SCENE
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
Thefe eyes, like lamps whofe wafting oil is fpent,
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent.
Weak shoulders over-born with burthening grief,
And pithlefs arms like to a wither'd vine
That droops his faplefs branches to the ground:
Yet are these feet whofe ftrengthlefs ftay is numb,
(Unable to fupport this lump of clay)
Swift-winged with defire to get a grave,
As witting I no other comfort have.
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?
Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my Lord, will come;
We fent unto the Temple, to his chamber,
And answer was return'd that he will come.
Mor. Enough; my foul then shall be satisfy❜d.
Poor gentleman, his wrong doth equal mine.
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,
(Before whofe glory I was great in arms,)
This loathfome fequeftration have I had;
And ev❜n fince then hath Richard been obfcur'd,
Depriv'd of honour and inheritance.
But now the arbitrator of defpairs,
Juft death, kind umpire of men's miferies,
With fweet enlargement doth difmifs me hence.
I would his troubles likewife were expir'd,
That fo he might recover what was loft!
Enter Richard Plantagenet.
Keep. My Lord, your loving nephew now is come.
Mor. Richard Plantagenet, 3 'friend, is he come?
Plan. I, noble uncle, thus ignobly us❜d,
Your nephew, late defpifed Richard, comes.
Mor. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck,
And in his bofom spend my latest gafp.
Oh, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.
And now declare, fweet stem from York's great stock,
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