Som. And on my fide it is fo well apparell'd, So clear, fo fhining, and so 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 rose with me.

Som. Let him that is no coward, and 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 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 subscribe 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 furgeon to my hurt;
And keep me on the fide, where ftill I am.
Som. Well, well, come on; who else?

Lawyer. Unless my ftudy and my books be falfe,

The argument, you held, was wrong

in you;

[To Somerfet.

In fign whereof I pluck a white rose too.
VOL. V.

Plan.

Plan. Now, Somerfet, where is your argument? Som. Here in my scabbard, meditating that Shall die your white rose to 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
Blush 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 bleedingRofes,
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,
Somerfet.

His grandfather was Lyonel Duke of Clarence,
Third fon to the third Edward King of England:
Spring creftlefs Yeoman from so deep a root?

I fcorn thee and thy Fallion, So the old Copies read, and rightly. Mr. Theobald altered it to Fation, not confidering that by Fashion is meant the Badge of the Red-10fe, which Somerset said he and his Friends fhould be diftinguifh'd by. But Mr. Theobald afks, If Faction was not the true reading, why Should Suffolk immediately reply, Turn not thy Scorns this way, Plantagenet? Why? because Plantagenet had called Somerfet, with whom Suffolk fided, peevish boy.

Plan.

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 my words 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'ft 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 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 Pool, 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. Ah, thou fhalt find us ready for thee ftill, And know us by thefe colours for thy foes: For thefe my friends, in fpight of thee, fhall wear. Plan. And by my foul, 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.

[Exit.

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 Glofter:
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,

for this apprehenfion;] Apprehenfion, i. c. Opinion.

Q2

Against

Againft proud Somerset and William Pool,
Will I upon thy 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 rose and the white,
A thousand fouls to death and deadly night.

Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you;
That you on my behalf would pluck a flow'r.
Ver. In your behalf ftill will I wear the fame.
Lawyer. And fo will I.

Plan. Thanks, gentle Sir.

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

This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt.

Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair, and jailors.
IND keepers of my weak decaying age,

Mor. 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 of care,

Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.

Thefe eyes, like lamps whose wafting oil is spent,
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent.

Weak fhoulders over-born with burdening grief,
And pithlefs arms, like to a wither'd 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?
Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come;
We fent unto the Temple, to his chamber;
And anfwer was return'd, that he will come.

Mor.

Mor. Enough; my foul then shall be fatisfy'd.
Poor gentleman, his wrong doth equal mine.
Since Henry Monmouth firft 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 despairs,

Juft death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
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, my friend, is he come?
Plan. I, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd,
Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes.

Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck, And in his bosom spend my latest gasp.

Oh, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks;
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.

And now declare, sweet stem from York's great flock,
Why didft thou fay, of late thou wert difpis'd?

Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm,
And in that eafe I'll tell thee my Disease.
This day, in argument upon a cafe,
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerfet and me:
Amongst which terms he us'd his lavish tongue,
And did upbraid me with my father's death;
Which obloquy fet bars before my tongue,
Elfe with the like I had requited him.
Thererefore, good uncle, for my father's fake,
In honour of a true Plantagenet,

And for alliance' fake, declare the cause
My father Earl of Cambridge loft his head.

Mor. This caufe, fair nephew, that imprifon'd me; And hath detain'd me all my flow'ring youth

Q3

Within