I did not entertain thee as thou arts

Tal. Be not dismayd, fair Lady, nor misconftrue.
The Mind of Talbor, as you did mistake
The outwarà composition of his Body.
What
you

have done, hath not offended me:
Nor other Satisfaction do I crave,
But only with your Patience, that we may
Taste of your Wine, and see what Cates you have,
For Soldiers Stomachs always ferve them well.

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

and others.
Plan. Great Lords and Gentlemen,
What means this filence?
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 maintaind the Truth:
Or else 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 Horses, which doth bear him beft,
Between two Girls, which hath the merryest Eye
I have perhaps fome shallow Spirit of judgment,
But in these nice sharp Quillets of the Liw,
Good-faith, I am no wifer than a Daw.

Plan. Tut; tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:
The truth appears so naked on my fide,
That any pur blind Eyé nay find it out.

Som. And on my side, it is so well apparell'a,
So clear, so shining, 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 significants proclaim your Thoughts:

Let

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 Briar pluck a white Rose with me.

Som. Let him that is no Coward, nor no Flatterer,
But dare maintain the Party of the Truth,
Pluck a red Rose 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 say withal, I think he held the right.

Ver. Stay, Lords and Gentlemen, and pluck no more, 'Till you conclude, that he upon whose 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 fewest, I fubscribe in filence,

Plan. And I.

Ver. Then for the truth, and plainness of the Cafe, 1 pluck this pale and maiden Blossom 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 Rose Red, And fall on my fide fo against your will.

Ver. If I, my Lord, for my Opinion bleed,
Opinion shall be Surgeon to my hurt,
And keep me on the side where fill I am.

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

Lawyer. Unless my Study and my Books be falle, 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 Rose in a bloody Řed.

Plan. Mean time your Checks do counterfeit our Roses, For pale they look with fear, as witnessing The truth on our side.

Som. No Plantagenet. 'Tis not for fear, but anger, that thy Cheeks

Blush

Blufh for pure shame, to counterfeit our Roses,
And yet thy Tongue will not confess thy Error.

Plán. Hath not thy Rose a Canker, Somerset?
Som. Hatb' not thy Rose a Thorn, Plantagenet ?

Plan, Ay, sharp and piercing to maintain his truth,
Whiles thy consuming Canker eats his falfhood.
Som. Well

, I'll find Friends to wear my bleeding Roses, That fhall maintain what I have said is true, Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen,

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 Pool, 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 Pool,
We grace the Yeoman, by conversing with him.

War. Now by God's will thou wrong'st him, Somerset: His Grandfather was Lyonel Duke of Clarence, Third Son to the third Edward King of England:Spring Crestless Yeomen from so deep a Root?

Plan. He bears him on the Place's Priviledge,
Or durft 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.
Was not thy Father, Richard, Earl of Cambridge,
For Treason executed in our late King's Days?
And by his Treason, stand'At not chou attainted,
Corrupted and exempt from antiert Gentry?
His Trespass yet lives guilty in thy Blood,
And 'till thou be restor'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 ripened to my Will,
For
your

Partaker Pool, and you your self,
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. Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee ftill;
And know us by these Colours, for thy Fues:

For

For these, my Friends in spight of thee fall 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 so farewel, until I meet thee next.

[Exit? Som. Have with thee, Pool : Farewel, ambitious Rio chard.

[Exit. Plan. How I am bray'd, and must perforce endure it!

War. This blat, that they object against your House, Shall be wip'd out in the next Parliament, Calld for the Truce of Winchester and Gloucester : And if thou be not then created York, I will not live to be accounted Warwick. Mean time, in signal of my love to thee, Against proud Somerset, and William Pool, Will I upon thy party wear this Rose. And here I prophesie; 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.

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 so will I.

Plan. Thanks, gentle Sir.
Come, let us four to dinner ; I dare fay,
This Quarrel will drink Blood another day. [Exeunts

Enter Mortimer, brought in a Chair, and Jailors.
Mor. Kind Keepers of my weak decaying Age,
Let dying Mortimer here ret himself.
Even like a Man new haled from the Wrack,
So fare my Limbs with long Imprisonment:
And these gray Locks the Pursuivants of Death,
Neftor-like aged, in an Age of Care,
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
These Eyes, like Lamps, whose wasting Oil is spent,
Wax dim, as drawing to their Exigent.

Weak

Weak Shoulders, over-born with burthening Grief,
And pithless Arms, like to a withered Vine,
That droops his faptels Branches to the Ground,
Yet are these Feet whofe strengthless stay is numb,
(Unable to support this Lump of Clay)
Swift-winged with delire to get a Grave,
As witting I no other comfort have.
But tell me, Keeper, will my Nephew come?

Keeper. Richard Plantagene, my Lord, will come,
We fent unto the Temple, to his Chamber,
And answer was return'd, that he will come.

Mór. Enough; my Soul then shall be satisfied.
Poor Gentleman, his wrong doth equal mine.
Since Henry Monmouth firft began to Reiga,
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 Mens Miseries.
With sweet Enlargement doth dismiss me hence :
I would his Troubles likewise were expir’d,
That so he might recover what was loft.

Enter Richard Plantagenet.
Keeper. My Lurd, your loving Nephew now is comic
Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my Friend, is he come?

Plan. J, noble Uncle, thus ignobly us'd, Your Nephew, late despised Richard, comes.

Mor. Direct mine Arous, I may embrace bis Neck, And in his Bosom spend my later 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

's great

Stock, Why didst thou say of late thou wert despis'd?

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

my Disease.
This day in Argument upon a Case,
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me:
Amongst which terms, he usd his lavish Tongue,
And did upbraid me with my Father's Death;