'Tis not for fear; but anger-that thy cheeks Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses; And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. Plant. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset ? Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet ? Plant. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;

Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. 309 Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding

roses,

That shall maintain what I have said is true,
Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.

Plant. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy,

Suf. Turn not thy scorns 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 conversing with him. 310
War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him,
Somerset ;

His grandfather was Lionel duke of Clarence,
Third son to the third Edward king of England;
Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?
Plant. He bears him on the place's privilege,
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.
Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain my

words

On any plot of ground in Christendom:

E

Was

Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge,
For treason executed in our late king's days?
And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted,
Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;
And, 'till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman.

320

230

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 scourge you for this apprehension : Look to it well; and say you are well warn'd. Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still: And know us, by these colours for thy foes; For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear. Plant. 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.

340

Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy am

bition !

And so farewel, until I meet thee next.

[Exit.

Som. Have with thee, Poole.-Farewel, ambitious

Richard.

[Exit.

Plant. How I am brav'd, and must perforce en

'dure it!

War. This blot, that they object against your house,

Shall

Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament,

Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster:

And, if thou be not then created York,

I will not live to be accounted Warwick.

359

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 prophesy-This brawl to-day
Grown to this faction, in the Temple-Garden,
Shall send between the red rose and the white,
A thousand souls 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 same.
Law. And so will I.

Plant. Thanks, gentle sir.

Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say,

360

This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt.

A Room in the Tower.

SCENE V.

Enter MORTIMER, brought in a Chair, and Failors.

Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.

Even like a man new-haled from the rack,
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment:
And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,
Nestor-like aged, in an age of care,

370

Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.

These eyes—like lamps whose wasting oil is spentWax dim, as drawing to their exigent:

Weak shoulders, over-borne with burth'ning grief; And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine

380

That droops his sapless branches to the ground.-
Yet are these feet-whose strengthless stay is numb,
Unable to support this lump of clay—
Swift-winged with desire 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 sent unto the Temple, to his chamber;
And answer was return'd, that he will come.
Mor. Enough; my soul then shall be satify'd—
Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign
(Before whose glory I was great in arms)
This loathsome sequestration have I had;
And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd,
Depriv'd of honour and inheritance:

But now,

the arbitrator of despairs,

Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence:
I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd,
That so he might recover what was lost.

Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET,

399

Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend? Is he come?

Plant.