Dare no man answer in a case of truth? Suf. Within the Temple-hall we were too loud; The garden here is more convenient. Plan. Then say at once, If I maintain'd the truth Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error? Suf. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law; And 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, Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance; That any purblind eye may find it out. Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, So clear, so shining, and so evident, That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. Plan. Since you are tongue-ty'd, and so loath to speak, In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts: Let him, that is a true-born gentleman, And stands upon the honour of his birth, If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer, But dare maintain the party of the truth, Plnek a red rose from off this thorn with me. Somerset ; 1 pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. Suf. I pluck this red rose, with young And say, withal, I think he held the right. *Ver. Stay, lords, and gentlemen; and pluck no more, Till you conclude that he, upon whose side The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree, Shall yield the other in the right opinion. Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected; If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. Plan. And I. Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, I pluck this pale, and maiden blossom here, Giving my verdict on the white rose side. Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, And fall on my side so against your will. Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, And keep me on the side where still I am. Law. Unless my study and my books be false, Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? Som. Here, in my scabbard; meditating that, Shall die your white rose in a bloody red. Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our roses; For pale they look with fear, as witnessing Som. No, Plantagenet, 'Tis not for fear; but anger,—that thy cheeks Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset ? Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. roses, That shall maintain what I have said is true, Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. Plan. 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 conversing with him. War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Som erset: His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence, Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain my words On any plot of ground in Christendom: Was not thy father Richard, earl of Cambridge, Plan. My father was attached, not attainted; Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still: And know us, by these colours, for thy foes; Or flourish to the height of my degree. Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition! And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit. Som. Have with thee, Pool.-Farewell, ambitious Richard. [Exit. Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure it! Wur. 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 Gloster: I will not live to be accounted Warwick, Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say, This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-The same. A Room in the Tower. En- 1 Even like a man new-haled from the rack, Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. These eyes,-like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,- Weak shoulders, overborne with burd'ning grief; 1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come: But now, the arbitrator of despairs, Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, That so he might recover what was lost. Enter Richard Plantagenet. 1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend? Is he come? Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd, Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes. Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck, |