Puslapio vaizdai

I did not entertain thee as thouart.welde

Tal. Be not difmay'd, fair Lady, nor mifconftrue.:
The Mind of Talbot, as you did mistakes:

The outward compofition of his Body.
What you have done, hath not offended me!
Nor other Satisfaction do I crave VI
But only with your Patience, that we may
Tafte of your Wine, and fee what Cates you have,
For Soldiers Stomachs always ferve them wells

Coun. With all my Heart, and think me honoured,
To feaft fo great a Warrior in my Houfe: [Exeunt.
Enter Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, Somerset, Suffolk,
and others.

Plan. Great Lords and Gentlemen,

What means this filence?

Dare no Man answer in à Cafe of Truth?

Suf. 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:
Or elfe was wrangling Somerset in th' 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,
Between two Blades, which bears the better temper,
Between two Horfes, which doth bear him beft,
Between two Girls, which hath the merryest Eye,
I have perhaps fome fhallow Spirit 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 speak,
In dumb fignificants 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,

From off this Briar pluck a white Rofe with me.
Som. Let him that is no Coward, nor no Flatterer,
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, 'Till you conclude, that he upon whofe fide The fewest 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 fubscribe in filence.

Plan. 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 fhall be Surgeon to my hurt,
And keep me on the fide where ftill I am.

Som. Well, well, come on, who else?

Lawyer. Unlefs my Study and my Books be falfe, The Argument you held, was wrong in you; [ToSomerset, In fign whereot, I pluck a white Rofe too.

Plan Now Somerset, where is your Argument?

Som. Here in my Scabbard, meditating that,

Shall dye your white Rofe in a bloody Red.

Plan. Mean time your Cheeks do counterfeit our Rofes, For pale they look with fear, as witneffing The truth on our fide.

Som. No Plantagenet.

Tis not for fear, but anger, that thy Cheeks


Blufh for pure fhame, to counterfeit our Rofes,
And yet thy Tongue will not confefs thy Error.
Plan. Hath not thy Rofe a Canker, Somerfet?
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 Rofes,
That fhall maintain what I have faid is true,
Where falfe Plantagenet dare not be seen,

Plan. Now by this Maiden Bloffom in my Hand,
I fcorn thee and thy fashion, peevish Boy.

Suf. Turn not thy fcorns this way, Plantagenet. Plan. Proud Pool, I will, and fcorn both him and thee, Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy Throat. Som. Away, away, good William de la Pool, We grace the Yeoman, by converfing with him. War. Now by God's will thou wrong'ft him, Somerset: His Grandfather was Lyonel Duke of Clarence, Third Son to the third Edward King of England: Spring Crestless Yeomen from fo deep a Root? Plan. He bears him on the Place's Priviledge, Or durft not for his craven Heart fay thus.

Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain my words
On any plot of Ground in Chriftendom.
Was not thy Father, Richard, Earl of Cambridge,
For Treafon executed in our late King's Days?
And by his Treason, stand'st not thou attainted,
Corrupted and exempt from antient Gentry?
His Trefpafs yet lives guilty in thy Blond,
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 ripened to my Will.
For your Partaker Pool, and you your self,
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. Ah, thou fhalt find us ready for thee ftill;
And know us by these Colours, for thy Foes:


For thefe, my Friends in fpight of thee fhall wear.
Plan. And by my Soul, this pale and angry Rose,
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.

Suf. Go forward, and be choak'd with thy Ambition: And fo farewel, until I meet thee next.

[Exiti Som. Have with thee, Pool: Farewel, ambitious Richard.

[Exit. 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,
Againft proud Somerfet, and William Pool,
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 Souls to death and deadly Night.

Plan. Good Mafter Vernon, I am bound to you,
That you on my behalf would pluck a Flower.
Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same.
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.


Enter Mortimer, brought in a Chair, and Failors. Mor. Kind Keepers of my weak decaying Age,

Let dying Mortimer here reft himself.

Even like a Man new haled from the Wrack,
So fare my Limbs with long Imprisonment:
And thefe gray Locks the Purfuivants of Death,
Neftor-like aged, in an Age of Care,

Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.

Thefe Eyes, like Lamps, whofe wafting Oil is spent,
Wax dim, as drawing to their Exigent.


Weak Shoulders, over-born with burthening Grief,
And pithlefs Arms, like to a withered Vine,
That droops his faplefs Branches to the Ground,
Yet are thefe 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?
Keeper. 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 Soul then fhall be fatisfied.
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 even fince then, hath Richard been obfcur'd,
Depriv'd of Honour and Inheritance.

But now the Arbitrator of Defpairs,
Juft Death, kind Umpire of Mens 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.

Keeper. My Lord, your loving Nephew now is come.
Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my Friend, is he come?.
Plan. 1, 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 fpend my låter gafp.


Oh tell me when my Lips do touch his Cheeks,
That I may kindly give one fainting Kilsb
And now declare, fweet Stem from York's great Stock,
Why didft thou fay of late thou wert defpis'd?

Plan. Firit, lean thine aged Back against mine Arm,
And in that ease I'll tell thee my Disease.

This day in Argument upon a Cafe,

Some words there grew twixt Somerfet and me:


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Amongst which terms, he us'd his lavish Tongue, n And did upbraid me with my Father's Death;


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